


Weapons of War

by MapleCFreter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Action, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Human Experimentation, I ploted this bitch after s2e49, Political Intrigue, The Cerberus Assembly, The Cobalt Soul, War, but man was I right about that tag, dunamancy, extremely freeform use of magic, listen matt invented a new school of magic and that means there are no rules, the cobalt soul vs the cerberus assembly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleCFreter/pseuds/MapleCFreter
Summary: The empire is losing the war and in their desperation they turn to their mages, asking for magic powerful enough to keep back the darkness. The Cerberus Assembly reveal controversial weapons decades in the making. The result of human experimentation, Astrid and Eodwulf may be the empire’s last hope. The Cobalt Soul fear the repercussions of god-like magic in the hands of mortals, but with the threat of the war, and the power of dunamancy, there is very little they can do about it.To make matters worse, something is happening to Caleb. Overcome with new powers he can’t control, it seems like his past has finally caught up with him.





	1. Now I am become death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds” –Oppenheimer (in reference to Hindu scripture)_

When they finally stumbled out of the underdark, into the stinging sun, they found none of the beauty and comfort they remembered of the surface. Instead, they found war. Not the brewing, bubbling war composed of quick skirmishes and raids in the night; not the war from before they’d disappeared underground. This war left great scars in the land, and fields of bodies. Finding themselves in the middle of it, to The Mighty Nein it felt like another great calamity. Of course, it was nothing of the sort; not yet, at least.

Accidently in the centre of things once again, The Mighty Nein began the difficult journey back to uncontested ground. Their first night back under the stars, they found themselves holed up with a group of isolated empire soldiers. Bedraggled and cut off, not even Caleb and Beau could treat them with distrust. For the soldiers, it seemed to be enough that The Mighty Nein did not attempt to kill them on sight, and when Caduceus and Jester offered to heal their wounds, it quite nearly brought a few of them to tears.

“If we can just make it to Bladegarden,” repeated one of the soldiers, for what was not the first time.

She was a human woman with the hint of a Zemnian accent and a half-healed scar across her eye. Having been one of the least injured of the group, she perched in the window of this place, which must have once been someone’s home, surveying the wasteland. The one-room farmhouse was missing most of its roof and had sunk a few feet into the ground. Or perhaps the earth around it had swelled up like inflamed flesh.

One of the soldiers, a half-elven man, made a noise that is hard to describe. He currently lay across a bedroll beside Caduceus but seemed to be attempting to sit up. Attempting was the imperative word. His every movement, every noise of pain, was slowed down to a crawl. His note of agony was drawn out until it no longer sounded like a noise a person would make. The magic that afflicted him was not unlike a slow spell but was at the same time horrifyingly new and alien.

“Shh, shh… It’s alright.” Caduceus pulled the tortured soldier to his chest, stroking his hair. “We’ll find a way to help you. You’re just going to need to hang on a little longer.”

Wringing her hands, Jester paced the centre of the room. “I just don’t know. We’ve tried everything. It’s not like an injury or a disease, dispelling it didn’t work…”

It wasn’t clear who exactly she was talking to, overcome by her own helplessness, but the woman in the window—whose name was Heike—spoke up.

“Maybe if we can hold out until the mages from Rexxentrum get here. We’ve been expecting them for days now, and if anyone is going to have a chance at healing Kurt…”

Caleb’s reaction was subtle enough it went unnoticed by the soldiers, but for the party who knew him as well as they did, it was obvious. The blank expression that settled across his features was a thin mask which concealed his fear.

“They’re our only hope,” another man piped up, “what chance do we have against magic like this? Against monsters? We need firepower. We need…” He did not finish the sentence because he did not know the answer. None of them did.

All they could do was try to survive the night. Caduceus tried his best to comfort the man stuck on a different timestream, while the woman with a hand moving too fast for her mind, bound it to her chest in an attempt to stop the shaking.

“Incoming!” Heike called, and suddenly all who could stand were on their feet.

They peered through the windows and the holes in the walls. What they saw was a massive distortion of the kind caused by Xhorhasian dunamancy. It shifted across the battlefield in a way which made it appear as if the world that was flowing around it. Looking into areas affected by this kind of magic was like looking into a prism; it cut sharp lines and corners into empty space. Trying to see inside it was a sure way to give oneself a headache, but the interior of this one looked like the world flipped upside-down. At the top of this crystal of infinite angles, was the ground, like a reflection. Where the ground should have been was like a mirror of the starry sky, going down infinitely into the earth.

“Is it coming this way?” Fjord asked.

“Impossible to tell.” Heike moved to her pack, shoving in belongings.

“Wait, wait,” Beau protested. “We don’t want to be out there in the open at night. Especially not with people in this condition.”

“It’s better to be prepared.” Heike defended. “I do not wish to know what happens when you get caught in one of those.”

“Can you make one of those magic domes, Caleb?” Beau asked. “It’ll be a tight squeeze but maybe the magic will just flow around it.”

With five soldiers along with the party, Leomund's Tiny Hut did not sound comfortable.

“It’ll do jack shit against magic like that,” Fjord shot back. “We need to be ready to run.”

“And what about them?”

There was the slowed man, and another whose broken leg had been beyond the reserves of the clerics’.

“I can carry them,” Yasha offered.

“Not both of them. Not while running.”

The party erupted into bickering. Throughout it all, Caleb stayed silent. He was a thousand miles away, staring into the distortion, transfixed.

“Just do it Caleb,” Beau demanded, “what’s the harm?”

“Don’t. There’s no point,” said Fjord. “If it comes any close, we’re going.”

Caleb blinked up at them from his place against the wall, waiting. It seemed this squabble would come down to whoever could manage to pierce through the wizard’s stupor. Luckily enough, this was an argument that did not require a conclusion, for the magical distortion moved away, or perhaps faded. It was impossible to tell which. And they were left on an eerily quiet and empty battlefield, with the momentous task of attempting to get some rest.

Eventually though, most of them fell into a fitful sleep, taking turns on watch. That night, something happened. It was like a switch was flipped, or a stopper pulled out. Plans decades in the making were set into motion.

Caleb screamed.

Caduceus and one soldier were on watch, and tried to approach him, but could not. He was right there but walking closer closed no distance. He screamed in pure anguish, clutching his head and curling in on himself. The air looked like shattered glass. Then, everything exploded outwards.

When the rest of The Mighty Nein came to consciousness they were hanging suspended in the air. Like the rest of the debris from the explosion, they floated slowly down, landing around the edges of the crater. In the centre, still clutching his head, was Caleb. The farmhouse was no more. It had been reduced to dust, though not by heat or force. It was like the particles which had composed it had suddenly decided they needed to be as far from each other as possible. The magic had thankfully left everyone unharmed, though some of their gear had not been so lucky. What exactly had fallen victim to this increase in entropy seemed to be, at least to some degree, random.

Nott was the first to react. Sliding down the side of the crater, she yelled his name. Caleb did not respond so she went to him, clutching his face in her hands.

“Nott…” Fjord warned. “Be careful.”

“Are you alright, Caleb?” Jester called.

Nott hugged him, burying her face in his neck, Fjord’s warning ignored. And eventually he hugged her back, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Nott pushed a few strands of greasy hair out of his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh Caleb. Oh Caleb.” He was just staring at her, blue eyes glassy and fearful. “What happened? Something’s happened to you. I can feel it.”

Theories bounced around the group. The soldiers claimed random disturbances like this were not uncommon. Powerful dunamancy left residue, residual effects that haunted the battlefield like ghosts. The Mighty Nein did not dissuade these theories, but on their own, each came to similar conclusions. Knowing Caleb’s past, this was too much of a coincidence. This had been Caleb. Somehow.

There was no time to get to the bottom of it. The group was only halfway through collecting their belongings, from where they lay scattered around the crater, when they felt it. It was a slight rumbling in the ground, barely noticeable at first. But the reaction of the soldiers was immediate. This was the sound that would trigger post-traumatic flashes years into the future, if they managed to live that long.

“We need to go! We need to go now!” All at once they were yelling.

“Which direction will it come up? Can you tell?”

“I can’t walk. Oh gods! Please!”

“Caleb, we have to go,” Nott coaxed.

It was like he didn’t hear her. Caleb stared at his arms, bandages dirty and riddled with holes. He stared at his hands, flexing them open and closed.

“Come on, Caleb.” Nott was begging now, tugging at his arm, dragging him to his feet.

Less than thirty feet away, the massive maw of a worm broke through the soil. Rows of teeth spun in opposite directions. The sickly purple of its skin reflected the first few rays of morning sun, as it slowly peaked its way over the horizon. Some were surprised to see it, had half suspected that infinite night had finally reached them.

They ran. Nott dragged Caleb behind her. Her hand squeezed his so tightly that her nails broke the skin, drawing a little blood. Caleb didn’t notice. Yasha carried the slowed man in her arms, and the soldier with the broken leg hung between Jester and Heike. There were no Kryn is sight. This thing had seemingly wandered here on its own, perhaps in search of food.

Running west towards the empire, the sun was at their backs. When they turned to take shots at the worm it shone into their eyes. There was barely any time to stop and line up an attack, for they were barely staying ahead of it, and it was nearly impossible to pierce the monster’s hide. Even the soldiers’ few remaining bullets ricochet off, leaving nothing but the stink of black powder in the air. Nott was the most effective. Feeling safe enough to release Caleb’s hand, she was able to take shot after shot with her crossbow while miraculously maintain pace with the others. The bolts found homes between plates of armour, and in the creature’s mouth. Still, it did not slow.

It was gaining. A soldier at the back of the pack had to doge to the side, rolling across the ground, to avoid the maw. Despite his state, Caleb seemed to have little trouble staying ahead of it. His every movement was unnaturally fast. He stumbled along, still seemingly in a trance, yet was somehow faster than those in all-out sprints.

Ahead they saw a ridge, standing out starkly against the mostly flat landscape. On it, some patches of vegetation still survived. There, among the grasses, there was movement. There were people on the hill, just barely visible.

“It’s the empire!” Beau yelled, keen eyes picking out the colours of the uniforms.

The chorus of yells that rose from the group were somewhere between whoops of joy and a cry for help. Beau and Caleb pulled ahead of the rest, Caleb’s movement still a jittery, magical blur. He tripped and fell, sliding across the dirt, but before Beau could reach him, he was already on his feet again. It was a little hard to look directly at him in the same way it was difficult to look into the dunamancy fields.

Several ballistae were fired from the top of the ridge, and the great worm screamed. It slithered back underground. They were almost there. The soldiers on the ridge were yelling in encouragement, leveling rifles for when it came into range. Caleb and Beau were only a few dozen feet away, but the back of the group had fallen a fair way behind. Caleb’s mind was still somewhere else, but Beau noticed that Jester was among them, still helping to support the crippled man. For a moment Beau froze, almost running back. The thought came too late, as the worm erupted from the ground beneath the trio.

“Jester!” Beau screamed.

The tiefling pulled the man to her chest, raising her shield. Metal sparked against the grinding teeth, and Jester was sent skidding, managing to stay on her feet. Heike was not so lucky. She was devoured whole, the mouth of the worm slamming shut like a steel trap. Now within range, it was pelted with a barrage of bullets, screaming as purple blood poured into the soil.

Fjord had run back, helping Jester to drag the man to safety, and Beau heaved a sigh of relief. It was not long before the worm fell. Its gargantuan corpse was left lying in front of the camp, like a warning.

The makeshift war camp was a hodgepodge of empire soldiers and Righteous Brand. They came from different squads, regrouping in an attempt to organize a retreat, on the heels of one of the worst losses the empire had ever suffered. The war which had been in stalemate for so long was heating up, and it seemed like the empire was losing. The Mighty Nein could see the fear in the eyes of everyone they passed. The mood was oppressive, a potent mix between hopelessness and desperate comradery.

There was something comforting about being surrounded by allies. Yasha and Fjord specifically found comfort in the order of the military. Fjord saw the hierarchy and structure of a ship’s crew. Yasha saw an echo of her warrior tribe, standing together against the beasts of the wastes. They saw brothers and sisters standing shoulder to shoulder, desperate to hold back the dark. This was a blessing, for there were many in The Mighty Nein who were not as partial to such things. Fjord and Yasha dove immediately into the manic flurry of the camp, Fjord giving a report and explaining their presence, while Yasha began to help with fortification.

Beau left them to it, both grateful and vaguely put-off. She understood the looming threat, but her response to it was a more selfish one. There were certain people she cared about, and their safety was the only thing that mattered. After disengaging herself from Fjord’s report, she followed Jester into the medical tent. Jester was still trying to help the injured soldiers. The one with a broken leg was simple enough, but the two affected by dunamancy… Beau couldn’t tell her, but she didn’t think they had a chance. Jester was far too good for this place. She’d saved that man’s life, when Beau would have rather she drop him and save herself.

She knew that was the wrong thing to think, but she couldn’t help it. Her feelings for Jester had grown so slowly she hadn’t even noticed, and now she was grappling with something entirely new. She cared so gods damn much it was tearing her apart. For a moment, after that worm had burst out of the ground, Beau had really thought she was going to lose her. It had been the worst moment of her life. This was too much: being here, the war, Caleb, her feelings for Jester. Beau didn’t do this. She didn’t care about people like this. She was in love with Jester, and it took the other woman almost dying for her to admit that to herself. Of course it did.

As insightful as she usually was, Jester did not pick up on Beau’s mood. She was too overwhelmed. She had come here hoping to find a solution to her injured new friends, but instead all she’d found was more horror. There were so many injured here, far too many to be healed by her meagre reserve of magic. Eventually she submitted to Beau’s fussing, allowing herself to be checked over for injuries. Beau just kept talking about the worm, the conversation moving in circles. _It was big. It was terrible. It had almost killed them. There were so many more of them._

“Is it not what you expected, Beau?” Jester asked her. “All of this, I mean?”

They were sitting on a cot in the back corner of the tent, Beau applying a bandage to a cut Jester didn’t remember getting.

“That’s just it,” said Beau, “I’m not sure what I was expecting. It was something, right? I had this concept of the war in my head. I was so sure I understood what it meant. But I can’t remember it now.”

“I understand,” Jester said, “it’s the same for me.”

Beau had finished with the bandage, but her hands stayed clasping Jester’s upper arm.

“Are you alright, Beau?”

“Shut up,” Beau hissed, in a voice that was almost tearful. “I should be the one asking you that question.” She leaned forward to rest her forehead on Jester’s shoulder, leaving Jester unable to read her expression. “You almost died.”

“We all did, Beau. We do that a lot, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I guess I hadn’t. I’m such a fucking moron. You almost got killed by that fucking dragon, and I guess it didn’t register because I didn’t see it happen. Now everything is just so…”

Jester hugged her, and Beau melted into it, letting her face rest in the crook of her neck.

“It’s alright, Beau. Things are really scary right now. I’m really scared too. At least we all have each other, right? Things could be worse.”

“I just hate the war so gods damn much,” hissed Beau, through gritted teeth. “I hate both sides. I hate everything about it. I hate any system that could bring this into existence. But at the same time, I don’t hate these people working so desperately to save each other. Those soldiers just came out here to defend their homes, you know? Or to make a little money. And now so many of them are dead. I don’t know what that means.”

“It can be hard to separate those two things,” said Jester, gently stroking Beau’s back. “The system and the people, I mean.”

“I know,” Beau whispered. “I see that now. I don’t like it. I feel so powerless.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, holding each other, trying to ignore the sounds of the injured around them.

“I’m worried about Caleb,” Jester finally broke the silence.

“I know right?” Beau finally withdrew. “What the hell was that?”

“Maybe he did some magic in his sleep by accident, kind of like Fjord and the water.”

“Maybe.”

Beau had a bad feeling, but she did not voice it. What good would it do to add more worry to Jester’s pile?

As any of The Mighty Nein could have accurately predicted, Caleb was not a fan of the war camp. The inescapable crush of empire soldiers and the looming threat of the mages’ arrival would ordinarily have sent him running. That is, if there had been anywhere to run to.

This had Nott worried. She was sure he wouldn’t run out into the open. Right? He was far too smart for that. Still, she searched for him. Nott had been separated from him after they’d first arrived, clinging to Yasha in fear that the soldiers would see a goblin as the enemy. Yasha was the biggest shield, after all. On the contrary, Nott had found that nothing bridged the gap of prejudice like a common foe. She felt guilty, sad, and frustrated, staring at the mountains where they loomed on the horizon. Just beyond was Xhorhas, and Yeza, so close yet infinitely far away at the same time. They had come this far for her, after all, despite her protests. Them being here was her fault. Yet seeing what the Kryn were capable of first hand almost had her running headlong out into the wasteland, not stopping until she could hold him in her arms again. She didn’t, though. She was far too smart for that.

Her search for Caleb was fruitful. She found him near the edge of the camp, sitting in the shadow cast by a stack of boxes. Caduceus was with him, which came as a relief. The pair were sitting in silence. They had been for some time. Caleb stared at his hands, lost somewhere in the labyrinth of his mind, and Caduceus provided his calming aura, unjudging company, and a watchful eye.

“Caleb?” Nott approached tentatively.

Whatever strange magic had been surrounding him as they ran was gone now. He just looked like Caleb; tired, dirty, and scared, sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest. Caleb looked up and smiled, but it was like he didn’t even see her. The smile was a reflex, a lie.

“Come join us, Nott,” Caduceus said, extending an aura of genuine warmth, like he was capable of anything else. “This place can be… a lot.”

“That’s an understatement.” Nott flopped down on Caleb’s other side, struggling with how to broach the topic on everyone’s mind.

She doubted Caduceus had brought it up. While she didn’t believe for a second that Caduceus hadn’t been listening to Caleb’s explanation of his past in the back of the wagon in Felderwin, the firbolg’s seeming disinterest in specifics was both a blessing and a curse. Nott just wished she wasn’t the only one dealing with the fact that something was clearly wrong with Caleb.

“We need to talk about what happened out there,” she said. “I’ve never seen you do magic like that before. And you woke up screaming. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“I uh…” Caleb began, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m not sure. Everything has been happening so fast. I…”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Caduceus affirmed. “The most important thing right now is to stay calm and keep our heads level. If we allow ourselves to get all worked up, who knows what will happen?”

He spoke almost as if he knew something they did not. In truth, Caduceus was a creature of intuition, often knowing the best course of action without bothering to understand the connections in his brain which had led him to that point. He was the opposite of Caleb in that way.

“Ja,” Caleb nodded at him. “you are right. I have never experienced anything like that before. I am a wizard, not a sorcerer. All of my magic is learned. I understand what I am doing as I do it. This… It felt like…” He trailed off, frozen by fear once again.

Caduceus put an anchoring hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Go on,” Nott prompted.

“It uh… it reminded me of when I was still with Trent. Some of the things he did to me, I barely remember them, they are so blurry and all I remember is pain, but I think some of them felt like that. I realize now he must have been experimenting with dunamancy. Maybe being so close to it again set something off.” Caleb swallowed. “I do not like that thought.”

“If you start feeling weird again you need to tell us,” said Nott. “Promise me, Caleb. We can’t help you if you keep everything to yourself.”

Caleb nodded again, looking a little bit calmer. His breathing was becoming more even, slowly falling into time with Caduceus’s. It did not last long.

The panic started from the opposite side of the camp and spread outwards, like a forest fire across dry brush. Screams and calls to action permeated the air. The ground shook and the sound of battle erupted from the other side of the ridge. The enemy had found them. Five Purple Worms burst from the earth, one in the centre of the camp itself. It was pandemonium. They had been preparing for this eventuality, but there was only so much they could have done.

From the tunnels the worms created, poured Kryn forces. This was a strike team composed mostly of beastmen, Bugbears and the like, not the dunamancy wielding Drow who had decimated the empire’s main forces just a few days prior. Still, the empire was outnumbered, the purpose of this attack clearly chaos and carnage. To Yasha, at least, this was familiar. The tribes might have been bigger, but the battlefield was the same, as were the enemies. She had been here before, back against the wall, with chances that looked less than slim. It was where she thrived. Through the chaos, she searched for The Mighty Nein, in the same way she’d used to search for Zuala in the heat of battle. If they were going to fall, at least they would fall fighting side by side in glory.

Though not everyone felt the way Yasha did, scattered across the camp, the goals of The Mighty Nein aligned. They needed to find each other and retreat. This was not the kind of battle that ended in victory. Lines of the empire’s guns cut down the seemingly endless hoards pouring from the earth. The massive arrows of ballista penetrated the tough skin of the worms, but that only made them targets. Tents went up in flames, filling the battlefield with choking smoke. Among the goblinoid hoards, Drow commanders road on the backs of giant spiders.

Jester and Beau had just managed to meet up with Caleb, Caduceus, and Nott.

“I messaged the others!” Nott yelled, over the din of the battle. “They’re coming. They’ll meet us to the west.”

Beau whacked a bugbear in the head with her staff, saving Caleb from a nasty gash across the chest. Caduceus threw out the occasional buff, all while keeping a guiding hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Stay calm,” he told Caleb, “breath. We’ll make it through this.”

“I am trying my best. The circumstances aren’t exactly optimal.” He paused, shooting several bolts of fire from his glove. They hit their targets, barely noticeable against the backdrop of flames. “I am feeling something. I cannot describe it. It scares me.”

Fighting desperately to find each other, none of The Mighty Nein noticed the lone woman who appeared in the centre of the battlefield. She arrived via teleportation, quietly and without ceremony.

The tide of the battle changed instantly. Everything slowed down around her as she levitated off the ground. Whether it was she who was fast, or her surroundings slow, it did not matter. She rained hell down upon the Kryn. To describe this sort of magic is difficult. The closest thing would be to say she shaped reality itself to her will. The people and debris that surrounded her had begun to float as well, orbiting her in rings. Lines of beastmen turned to dust under her gaze. Dunamantic distortions shaped the earth beneath her, perhaps unintentionally. They cut straight lines and sharp corners into the soil, creating geometric pits and mounds which disappeared as quickly as they were made. The creation of these formations was instantaneous, like the matter came or left existence all at once. It rippled out from her in waves, turning the battlefield into an ever-shifting dreamscape.

Everyone saw her now, weapons lowering in awe and fear. This was what the soldiers had been promised: a mage from the capital, a weapon, a god, a chance that they would not all die here. She looked mostly human, just a young woman with short brown hair, but her eyes were like staring into the void.

Caleb slipped from Caduceus’s grip, taking a few shuttering steps towards her.

“Caleb?” Caduceus asked.

He stared up at her, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. A fallen Drow lashed out at him, but turned to dust before his blade made contact, drifting away on the wind.

“Where are you going?” Nott asked.

Beau’s hand found Jester’s. The ground beneath their feet shifted unpredictably, threatening to drop them into a pit at any moment.

“You know her,” said Caduceus. It wasn’t a question.

“Astrid?” Caleb called, but this voice did not carry. She was still so far away across a sea of distortion.

He reached an outstretched hand towards her. The rest of The Mighty Nein were still processing, trying to understand what this meant. Fjord and Yasha finally reached the group, vaulting over a strange pyramid formation, just in time to witness what came next.

Caleb’s hair floated weightlessly around his head. His clothes came next, jacket and scarf billowing out behind him as he walked towards her. He didn’t seem to notice. Between them, a path miraculous cleared. It was a thin walkway through the chaos, this magic slightly different in appearance than the rest. The air shimmered a little, like it was made of crystal. Looking at it was a little like looking at an imperfect illusion.

Now facing away from then, Astrid did not seem to notice him. One of the purple worms hung before her, biting uselessly at the air. She tied it like a bow, then flung it out over the wasteland.

Snapping out of their collective stupor, The Mighty Nein tried to follow him. What else could they do? It was easier to move across the battlefield on this catwalk of calm. Here, at least, gravity was constant, and the ground did not shift. Still, it felt like smooth glass underfoot. It felt like they were trying to move through water.

Caleb made it less than thirty feet before he collapsed to the ground, whimpering. He clutched his head, grubby fingers curling in knotted, red hair. The chaos rushed back in.

“Make it stop!” he begged. “Please.”

Around where Caleb lay, matter began to dissolve into its composite particles. It happened indiscriminately; the nearby remnants of a tent, Astrid’s geometric protrusions, and those who were unlucky enough to be standing too close. The Mighty Nein was a fair distance behind, but they watched in horror as Caleb’s magic turned three people to dust; one beastman and two empire soldiers. They didn’t even have time to scream.

“Please. I can’t…! I don’t know what’s happening!” Caleb’s voice was heavy with panic.

The particles floated around him in a lazy cyclone as he trembled in the centre of a quickly forming crater.

They were all yelling at once, trying desperately to get through to him, but it faded into the din.

“Stay back,” Beau released Jester’s hand, “I’m going to try to go to him.”

She attempted to take a step forward, but Jester grabbed her wrist. “But Beau, what if that happens to you?”

“I have to try.”

“Then let me go! I’m a cleric. I can help him.”

The two women fought as they crept closer, both trying to move forward at the same time as trying to hold the other back. They eventually reached a stalemate at the edge of the orbiting dust, both refusing to let the other take another step.

Nott did not have anyone to stop her. “I’m coming to you, Caleb!” she yelled. “Just hold on. I trust you won’t hurt me.”

“No!” Jester lunged forward, but Beau held her back.

Closing her eyes, Nott stepped past the boundary.

“No,” Caleb moaned, “stay away.”

She did not, and while her clothes floated a little from the lessened gravity, Nott was still solid when she reached him. She knelt beside him, and Caleb clutched at her desperately.

“We need to get him out of here,” said Fjord. “She’s one of the ones who works for Ikithon, ain’t she? We can’t let her see him.”

Cautiously, the rest of The Mighty Nein crept closer. An expression of determination settled across Caleb’s face, and the swirling particles slowly began to dissipate. He was clutching Nott’s arm so tightly it was a little painful, but she didn’t mind.

“Something is happening to me,” he managed, each word slow and deliberate. “I do not understand what. Astrid and I both endured _his_ experiments, but I did not understand what was done to us. What if I am an unfinished version of—of that?”

High above, Astrid was joined by dozens of semi-transparent versions of herself, they spread out across the camp, rebuilding what had been destroyed.

“What if I can’t control this?” Caleb stared up at them fearfully. “What if I hurt you?”

The Mighty Nein surrounded him in a protective circle.

“We are all choosing to be here,” said Caduceus.

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“I am trying to stay calm,” Caleb told Caduceus, “but I am not like you, my friend. I am unsure for how long I can do this.”

Caleb was barely aware of his surroundings. It felt like there was fire in his veins. It spread through his body, getting hotter and hotter. He could not help but visualize a wick, leading to a keg of black powder. He couldn’t be near them when he blew. He’d forgotten how much it hurt. It was easy to remember the concept of pain, but the truth of it was not something the brain stored well, probably to protect itself from it. Feeling like this again, like his body was destroying itself from the inside, Caleb was transported back to Trent’s lab in the countryside. His nails raked helplessly at his arms, searching for crystals that weren’t there. But there was something new as well, mixed in with the agony. He could feel the weave of magic in a way he never could before, and in the moments where he managed to see through the haze of pain, the world looked different—sharper. The words of The Mighty Nein washed over Caleb like warm water, but he made very little meaning from them.

A spectral Astrid had landed far too close for comfort, with a wave of her hand fixing a pit she herself had created. Caleb did not notice her, but the rest of The Mighty Nein certainly did. Beau pulled off her cloak, throwing it over Caleb. She pulled the hood down over his face, swaddling him in it like a babe in a blanket. Decisions were made quickly, in anxious whispers, and before Caleb could process what was happening, Yasha scooped him up in her arms. Despite his initial protests, he stayed there. He was concentrating far too hard on keeping himself under control to fight them as well.

“Do not worry,” Yasha said, in that flat voice of hers that always dripped sincerity, “we’ve got you.”

The ground of the battlefield had almost completely stopped shifted beneath their feet. As the flood of magic receded, the things which hung in the air began to slowly float down to earth. With the enemies all dust or corpses, it seemed Astrid had turned her attention to rebuilding. These spectral shadows of her were not like Jester’s duplicate. They were far less solid. They would merge into each other, and split into pairs like dividing cells. They paid little attention to The Mighty Nein as they moved westward, Caleb burying his face in Yasha’s chest.

The land west of the encampment was slightly less of a wasteland. Some of the wheat fields, long since abandoned by their owners, still stood unharmed. This place had still seen fighting, but less of it.

“Just hang on a little longer,” Caduceus told Caleb, “then I can make you something that might help you stay calm.”

“Will it put me to sleep?” Caleb whispered, hopefully.

“Maybe. Depends on how willing you are to go to sleep. The tea will help, but if you fight it, you’ll win. You’re far more powerful than it is.”

With his eyes open, Caleb was seeing double. Though… that wasn’t quite right. He could see duplicates of his friends, translucent shadows, sometimes splitting off and wandering their own way, or speaking words he could not hear. So, he opted to close his eyes instead. The darkness behind his lids looked like the space within the beacon, an endless void full of tangling threads of light.

The Mighty Nein noted that Caleb left a trail in the air behind him. They were like ripples in a pond, or smudging lantern light seen through half-closed eyes. They chose to stay silent, exchanging knowing looks. They had to keep him calm.

In an abandoned farmhouse that was still—for the most part—intact, Caduceus brewed a cup of tea. Caleb drank it with shaking hands, and relaxed into it, breathing the first deep breaths he’d taken all day. He slumped in the chair, somewhere between sleeping and waking, as the rest of the party debated their next move. The decision was not made easily. They never were, with this group, but eventually a consensus was reached. They had to undo what had been done to Caleb. There was no other option. He was far too dangerous in his current state, to himself and to them.

As slim as they were, their best chances of that lay in Rexxentrum. If Trent Ikithon had done this to Caleb in the first place, perhaps he possessed something that would help them undo it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? This fic idea came out of nowhere and punched me in the face. 
> 
> It shouldn't, in theory, be too long (by my standards at least), roughly 5 chapters, give or take. Though those are famous last words.


	2. Weed out the corrupt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"We wade in the filth of society, we weed out the corrupt, we pursue the secrets and evils of the world and expose them to the light, we twist the arm of the unjust until they spill their mysteries, we are the spies, we are the hunters, we are the watchmen to those who rule, we are not kind, we are forthright, we are truth."—Dairon (Critical Role 2x04)_

Bladegarden was more of a fort than a city. It was a sprawling collection of barracks and training grounds, walled in on all sides by towering watchtowers and lines of siege equipment. Many of the training fields now hosted tent cities instead of practice dummies. The displaced people of the empire fled to the safety of the walls, the scattered empire forces right along with them. The empire still held Bladegarden, so there was still hope, or at least that was what many told themselves. It centered around a massive fort, castle-like in its construction, which stood as a beacon of hope to the defeated soldiers. This was a place to regroup, to plan, and to strike back.

Despite this, like a metaphor, Bladegarden provided an excellent view of the incoming destruction. Over the Ashkeeper Peaks, a line could be seen in the sky. The day and night met, not like they did at dawn or dusk, but like rivers of oil and water crashing into each other and refusing to mix. This meeting of two opposing forces wound serpent-like over the mountain range. One glancing at it briefly would think it a static border, but it was ever changing, bulging and shifting in both directions. But, ever so slowly, the night crept closer. Those who had been in Bladegarden for weeks could not look at it without being reminded how much further away it used to be.

Today, a large crowd had formed around Bladegarden’s largest parade square. In the centre, a handful of mages guarded two teleportation circles. Bladegarden was far removed from the heart of the empire, and in times like these it was imperative to eliminate travel times by establishing a direct link to Rexxentrum. As convenient as it was, this magical supply line was not infinite. Finding mages capable of casting the complex spell, who were not occupied elsewhere, and who did not see themselves as above such menial work, was difficult. When the spell was cast, the portal only opened for a few seconds, and it was a difficult organizational task to coordinate how many people would be able to run through. In the outgoing direction, it was usually reserved for the injured and people of importance, though a few lucky refugees occasionally slipped through. Though they had not been chosen, residents of Bladegarden still liked to cluster around as the spell was cast, like salivating dogs.

Within the central fort, things were quieter. In the cool shadows of an empty mess hall, Expositor Dairon of The Cobalt Soul picked at some grey porridge. Her monastic training had left her without a particular appreciation for fine cuisine, but this stuff was vile, even by her standards. She was a dark-skinned elf with a shaved head and an abundance of bandages. Half of her face hid behind them, and she ate with only one hand, as the other sat in a sling. One of her legs, still in a cast, rested on an adjacent bench. A walking stick leaned on the wall behind her.

To Dairon’s left, a shadow slipped silently into the room. Despite the stealth of the entrance, the monk raised her head to survey the newcomer. It was a cloaked figure, face not visible under their hood. As Dairon watched expectantly, the figure removed the cloak to reveal a dirty version of the same cobalt-blue robes she wore.

Beauregard smiled awkwardly. She was still the young punk Dairon remembered, but there was a wisdom in her eyes that was new. There was something about her demeanor that instantly set her on edge.

“Hey Dairon,” Beau said, with a trademark smirk, “it’s been a while.”

“Beauregard.” Dairon raised an eyebrow, indicating only the mildest surprise. “I can’t say I expected to see you here.”

Beau took a seat opposite Dairon, draping herself forward across the table. “I’m glad I caught you. I was worried you’d have gone back already.”

“Yes, well my recovery has been rather lengthy.”

They stared each other down as Beau struggled to find the right words. She’d come here for a reason, after all.

However, it was Dairon to speak first. “When I got that sending from your friend I was not in the best shape. It was good to hear from you, though. It must be convenient to be travelling with mages.”

“That was Jester,” said Beau, focusing on keeping a poker face. Still, her heartrate increased a little at the mention of the other girl. “She’s pretty great.” Beau put her feet up on the bench, slouching in an exaggeratedly casual position. “I wouldn’t ordinarily admit this, but I was pretty worried about you, seeing as you were out here on the front lines. Now that I’m here I realize I wasn’t worried enough. Things are… bad.”

“An apt assessment. Though I have to ask, how did you end up out here? Knowing you, I doubt you’ve joined up with the war effort.”

“That’s a long story. And it’s not really relevant to why I’m here.” Suddenly Beau was intense. “I have to talk to you about something. I… have something to report.”

Dairon waited expectantly as Beau scanned the room, nervously examining every inch of the stone. All pretenses of being casual were gone, and Beau sat at attention.

“I believe we are sufficiently alone,” said Dairon, “for the moment. Talk quickly.”

“I saw something out on the battlefield.” Beau’s words rushed out in a torrent, her voice hushed, and Dairon had to lean forward to hear her. “There was this woman. She was a wizard, but I’ve never seen anyone use magic like that before. It was insane. She crushed hundreds of soldiers in an instant. I mean, she did probably save my life, and a bunch of others too, but there was something about it that just didn’t sit right with me. Should anyone have that much power? I’m not saying they shouldn’t, but it was like she was barely controlling it. And it was the kind of magic too, like she was bending reality, like the Xhorhasians do. And there’s something else.” Beau swallowed.

Dairon motioned for her to continue, senses on high alert for signs of any eavesdroppers.

“I have good reason to believe she was _created_. I mean, like through messed up magic experiments.” Beau’s knuckles were white on the edge of the table. “Like a jackass in The Cerberus Assembly experimented on kids to turn them into fucked up weapons. I know this is war, but that’s too far.”

Beau’s anger was not well concealed. She hadn’t meant it to be. What came as a surprise was that it was matched by the usually impassive Dairon. They mirrored each other’s intensity, leaning closer together across the table.

“I agree,” Dairon said, venomously, “but this is not news to The Cobalt Soul.” Before Beau could lash out with accusations, Dairon continued, “it is recent news. The corrupt mages in the capital managed to keep this concealed for far too long. I received the coded communication only yesterday. That something like this could have taken place under our very noses, I fear that we have failed.” Her eyes narrowed. “The question is, how you have stumbled upon this information, Beauregard?”

For Beau, it was easier to speak in half-truths. The familiar anxiety of having something to conceal came as a comfort to her, after the discomfort of speaking honestly.

“I was there when she appeared on the battlefield,” said Beau. “I saw first hand what these mages are capable of. And are you really surprised I know about the experiments? Isn’t this why you chose me? You’re right that The Cobalt Soul has obviously fucking failed, so at least one of us has to do our job. My sources are mine. As another industry professional, I’m sure you understand.”

Dairon nodded curtly. “Sometimes protecting one’s sources is necessary. Though I hope with time you can come to trust The Cobalt Soul enough to allow us to pool our knowledge. Information is the most powerful thing in the world, by sharing it with The Cobalt Soul we give them the weapons they need to remove the corruption from the heart of systems. It is sometimes not a task one can do alone.”

“So, you intend to stop The Cerberus Assembly?” asked Beau, her distrust clear on her face, “even with the Xhorhasian threat? You didn’t seem to be the biggest fan of the Kryn last time we spoke.”

“I’m not,” Dairon spat, “the Kryn are monsters. They are cruel oppressors. The Kryn Empire is the epitome of every horrible system I’ve sworn to tear down. But that doesn’t mean we can sink to their level. If we win by allowing these mages to use the Kryn’s terrible magic, if our mages decide to use this power to rule over us the same way Leylas Kryn does her people, if we allow them to steal away our children to be experimented upon as the Kryn have been doing, have we really won? No! We have become them, just as surely as if they had succeeded in their invasion.”

Perhaps, once upon a time, Beau might have posed the question of whether the Kryn were truly the villain, simply to be contrary, if nothing else. Now, after everything she’d seen, she could not. Both sides of this war were evil. The enemy of an enemy did not always mean a friend. That had been a difficult lesson to learn.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Beau said. “So, what are we doing about it? What’s the plan? We are doing something, aren’t we? You promised me a system that destroys systems.”

“I can only tell you what was included in the letter, but The Cobalt Soul has decided to take action. Once upon a time, those who dared to conduct human experiments were driven from the empire. Now we use their weapons.”

“What?”

“It’s not important. I know you have never been the biggest fan of history. Technological progress cannot be undone, and there is no use dwelling on it. To force out a few rogue scientists a few decades ago was one thing but going up against The Cerberus Assembly while we’re at war is another thing entirely. In a good society, no one is above the law.” Dairon paused, lowering her voice a little. “The Dwendalian Empire is not that society.” She sighed. “I worry for the safety of those from the Rexxentrum archive who are voicing these complaints. What little information they sent did not make me optimistic. By the grace of Ioun, I pray for their success. I wish I could be standing along side them, but it was decided that in my current state it is most useful for me to remain here and gather information.”

Her eyes landing on Beau, trapping her in a paralyzing gaze. Dairon examined her like she was a fly under glass.

“I suppose you have just presented me with the perfect opportunity to do just that,” she continued. “Until you arrived there were no reports of these human weapons actually being used on the battlefield. In fact, to my knowledge, they had not yet been activated. You may have witnessed the trial run, Beauregard. So, I must request you report to me everything you saw. Spare no detail.”

So, Beau did, leaving out the part about Caleb, of course. Describing the strange magic was difficult, but she tried her best. A little bit of fear seeped through the cracks of Dairon’s armour, and it was this that caused Beau to finally realize the magnitude of the situation. She’d realized it was a big deal, of course, but it hadn’t really hit her. If Dairon, who was so much wiser and more powerful than she, was worried, then what the hell was she going to do?

She was going to save Caleb and protect their makeshift family. There was no other option.

“The weirdest part about seeing her,” Beau finished, “was knowing she’s a person. Or was a person. Her name is Astrid, I think. She was just a kid from the empire who was indoctrinated. She had this done to her.”

Dairon nodded solemnly. “Human experimentation is an unforgiveable crime.”

“Can we save them?” Beau asked, her voice cracking a little. “Can we turn them back from weapons into people?”

“I think it may be too late for that. There may not be very much left to save. And even if there was, it’s too dangerous to even try. Their deaths would mean the protection of the lives of so many others. We need to destroy these weapons by any means necessary.”

“But—”

“The Cerberus Assembly are foolish to believe they are saving the empire. They are arrogant to believe their lead in the development of dunamancy will be permanent. After revealing what… _Astrid_ is capable of, things with the Kryn will only escalate. They will copy our empire’s research just as our empire copied them. Those fools have stared an arms race from which there will be no victors. If this continues to its conclusion there will be gods battling on earth just as there was in the Divergence. They will create another calamity in their hubris.”

“It was Trent Ikithon,” Beau whispered. “He’s the one that did this. I want to fucking murder him. I’ve never wanted someone dead this bad, and that’s saying something.”

“Of course it was…” Dairon affirmed, eyes lighting up as puzzle pieces slid together in her mind. “That matches up well with our intelligence. Perhaps the corruption within The Cerberus Assembly is not absolute. Maybe we can cut out what is rotten.”

Beau made a noncommittal noise.

Dairon was not to be distracted from her original point. “Like I was saying, we don’t have much time to dispose of Ikithon’s research before things are completely out of our hands. As agents of Ioun we preserve knowledge, but part of that great task is realizing when knowledge is too dangerous to exist. We must destroy everything, from spell books to test subjects, so that they can never fall into the wrong hands. Will you aid us in this, Beauregard?”

“Yes,” Beau answered, and like so many things she said, it was half truth and half lie.

Though it was barely audible, both Beau and Dairon picked up on the sound of movement coming from the hall. Dairon stiffened, reaching for her walking stick.

“Stay here,” Beau told her, “I’ll go check it out.”

Dairon nodded mutely as Beau slipped out of the room.

Jester and Nott crouched in the shadows a fair distance down the hall. Nott was pulled into the wall so tightly she was barely visible, while Jester stood stock still, hands clasped over her mouth in horror. Taking a few steps towards them, Beau gestured at them to leave, mouthing silent words.

 _“Sorry,”_ Jester mouthed back.

Guilt hit Beau immediately. She’d always worn her frustration on her face, and she was fucking frustrated. But she didn’t want Jester to think she was angry. The tiefling had gotten under her skin so completely it made her a little mad at herself.

The pair slipped away as silently as they could, and Beau returned to Dairon.

“It was nothing. Thankfully. Though we should probably cut this conversation short. The walls have ears, right?”

“Are you sure there was no one?” Dairon raised one of her sharp eyebrows.

“You have too little faith in me. I’m offended.” Beau sighed. “There was no one out there. We got lucky. Listen…” Beau prepared to introduce the true reason she’d come her. “I want to help. I see how big a deal this is, and I’ve never been so serious about anything in my life. Can you get my friends and I through to Rexxentrum? I promise to go after those mages with everything I have.”

“I want you to understand what you’d be getting into,” said Dairon. “The Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum has their back against the wall. With the war looming, public opinion is not in our favour. The Cerberus Assembly is fear mongering, whipping up support, the worst part being that the threat posed by the Kryn is real. The archmages are incredibly powerful, and we fear they are controlling the emperor through threat of violence. This is not an easily won battle.”

“So, after all the big talk they forced down my throat, The Cobalt Soul is just going to hide? Everything you just said tells me that you need me even more! Send me—”

“You’re right.”

Beau was so shocked, for a moment all she could do was blink dumbly, her next argument dying on her tongue.

Dairon continued. “You’re reckless and undisciplined. You’re going to run into danger headfirst and probably get yourself killed. You’re going to scream until they’re forced to listen to you. But in times like these, you’re exactly what we need. I hate to send you to what will probably be your death, but I know I would do the same if I were able. I just wish I’d had time to train you further.”

“So…” Beau was still processing. “The teleportation circle?”

“I’ll talk to my contacts. Be there at sunset. They’ll be expecting you and your friends. The ones from Trostenwald, correct?”

In shock, all Beau managed to get out was, “there are seven of us.”

“It will be done. Now get out of here before the soldiers return for dinner.”

Beau bowed, then met Dairon’s coal-grey eyes dead on. They both nodded, understanding passing between them.

“Give them hell,” Dairon ordered.

“Yes ma’am!”

Beau found Jester and Nott a few corridors away, crouching in an alcove with a few spare bags of gunpowder. Despite herself, Beau couldn’t help but make them aware of her frustration. Them being here was reckless and stupid. Beau had talked her way in, flashing her cobalt-blue, where as they had entered stealthily. If they’d been caught it would have ruined everything. All three of them knew Beau was right, but it had been worry that had driven the pair to follow Beau into the fort. She’d been gone for too long. They’d been afraid.

There was such sincerity in Jester’s eyes as she explained this, that Beau felt her anxiety melt away. The intensity of the meeting with Dairon had pumped her full of adrenaline. When she unclenched her fists, Beau realized her hands were shaking a little.

They made it out of the fort without incident, despite having to stand out of the way of an entire shift of soldiers, returning from the perimeter. If you walked with confidence, you could get away with almost anything. Still, back out under the overcast sky, they heaved a collective sigh of relief. Over the Ashkeeper Peaks, the night seeped ever closer, but for the moment, at least, they were safe.

“How did it go with Dairon?” Jester asked.

Despite the fact that no one was paying attention to them, Beau kept her voice low as they moved through the city.

“The Cobalt Soul are after Trent too. They found out about the human experiments recently, but Dairon’s worried it won’t go well for them if they go after the mages.”

Both Nott and Jester were staring at her in shock.

“She’s going to get us through the portal to Rexxentrum,” Beau continued, “she says they’re going to need all the help they can get.”

“They sound like allies,” said Nott, voice a little muffled behind her mask, “it’s suspicious. Nothing is ever this easy.”

“Normally I’d agree with you,” said Beau, “but I know The Cobalt Soul. They’re a bunch of stuffy monks obsessed with books, but there’s nothing they hate more than this sort of shit.”

“It’s really cool that you’re part of a group like that, Beau,” said Jester. “They sound super cool and badass.”

“Ah well…” Beau rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “I never really bought into it, to be honest with you, but if they’re going to help us help Caleb, I’ll march into that library of theirs willingly, for once.”

Jester laughed, and to Beau it sounded like music.

“Is Dairon coming with us?” she asked.

“No. She was hurt pretty bad, and she’s all bandaged up. They think she’s more use out here, gathering info.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I can try to help heal her, if you’d like?”

Beau shifted uncomfortably. These weren’t two worlds she really wanted to meet. “It’s alright, Jester. I’m sure the clerics here have already done everything they can.”

“Do you _like_ her?” It was an innocent question, so classically Jester that Beau missed the probing undertone. “I know you lied about the whole roommate thing, but still. If you do, I’m sorry she got hurt. I bet you wish you could have been here to help her.”

“I do wish I was here to help her, and I’m sad she got hurt, but I don’t really like her like _that_ ,” Beau answered, hastily. “She’s actually more of a mentor to me. She punched me in the face a few times once and that was pretty hot… but other than that…”

Jester giggled a little, rolling her eyes. “Oh Beau.”

The conversation was cut short, as they’d reached the corner of the refugee camp The Mighty Nein had co-opted. They’d claimed one of the grey canvas tents for themselves, but with Bladegarden reaching capacity, it probably wouldn’t be long before well-placed glares weren’t enough to keep out roommates. The tents were military grade, Bladegarden being in a uniquely good position to accommodate the influx of fleeing citizens and soldiers. Still, things were cramped, and that was a concern, given Caleb’s condition.

The man in question sat in the centre of the tent, on a bedroll. The rest of The Mighty Nein were all watching him, even if they were pretending they weren’t. Four orbs of light orbited him slowly. He stared at the Dancing Lights cantrip with a look of intense concentration.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Beau said, as she pushed into the tent. “Didn’t we decide that you weren’t going to try to cast any magic?”

“He seemed really keen on it,” offered Caduceus, like it was an explanation.

Fjord just shrugged sheepishly, but he was tense, they could all see it.

“I need to control this,” said Caleb, getting to his feet.

The orbs still hung in the air around him. Did they look different than usual, Beau wondered? Nott was sure they did, was watching Caleb like a hawk. The lights were too large, too dim.

“It may seem like I am more in control now,” he explained, “but it’s not true. I can feel it building. If I am to have any hope of… I need to understand this.”

“Are you making progress?” Jester asked.

The Dancing Lights swelled further, darkening until they were no longer emitting light. They were black orbs hanging in the air, like wounds. There was a sharp sound, like breaking glass, and Caleb winced. Cracks of white light spread across the blackness, and the orb shattered. They all braced for impact, expecting the worse, but the cantrip faded away to nothing.

“Not really,” Caleb admitted. “But I cannot allow myself to give up.”

There was an unusual conviction in his voice. It appeared that, perhaps, Caleb had finally stopped running.

“Sometimes I think I am beginning to understand it,” he said. “These are spells that I’m casting, after all.” He grunted in frustration. “This will be difficult to explain, since none of you are wizards.”

“I might understand,” said Nott. “Could you try?”

Caleb nodded. “You know when you cast a spell? Sometimes you trace a piece of it with your hand, or use an item that looks like part of it, or say words that vibrate like it does? Sometimes you can just visualize the shape of the spell in your mind. Spells have shapes. They are like runes in more than three dimensions, that we can capture a small piece of by flattening them into our spellbooks.”

“Hm…” Fjord was befuddled. “I’d never really thought of it like that.”

“You’re a genius Caleb,” said Nott, “I hope you know that.”

Caleb didn’t acknowledge her words, staring awkwardly at his boots. “Like I was saying. The more I cast this strange magic, the more I am beginning to see the shapes it makes in the weave, and I have realized they look like spell runes. If I can just find the spells that make up dunamancy, maybe I can control it… instead of letting it control me.”

“You would be very powerful,” said Beau. It sounded like a warning, hanging heavy in the air between them.

“I’ll make some more tea,” Caduceus broke the stretching silence. “We should all have some this time. I think we could all benefit from relaxing a little.”

They sat in a circle on the dirt floor, drinking a slightly weaker version of Caduceus’s relaxing tea. The sounds of Bladegarden were slightly muffled by the canvas, but they were still ever-present. Talking in a lowered voice, Beau caught them up on what had transpired with Dairon. She tried to be truthful, as difficult as it was for her, but still left out the part about how The Cobalt Soul probably wanted Caleb dead.

“The news from Rexxentrum is troubling,” said Caleb. “The Dwendalian Empire is already bad enough, but it would be _so_ much worse with Trent Ikithon in charge. The Cerberus Assembly has always been dangerous, but I was naïve enough to believe the emperor had them on a leash.”

“We can’t allow them to use the war as an excuse to take power,” said Beau.

“But I thought we were going to Rexxentrum to fix Caleb!” Nott protested.

“We are,” said Beau. “Caleb is one of Ikithon’s weapons—” Caleb winced “—sorry. If we can find out how to fix him, maybe we can nullify all of his dunamancy.”

“Sounds like a long-shot,” said Fjord.

“Do you have a better plan?”

As The Mighty Nein waited for sunset, the chaos in Bladegarden only increased as a large wave of retreating soldiers arrived from the north. The Rockguard Garrison had fallen, joining its sister to the south. The Kryn would no longer need to come through the mountains. The path into the empire was clear.

The crowd around the teleportation circles was even larger this evening. A few dozen soldiers had joined the mages, forming a parameter around the outside of the parade square. Displaying her blue robes with pride, Beau strode confidently up to the blockade. Much to everyone’s relief, Dairon had been true to her word, and they were let through. Dairon herself was not present which, in Beau’s opinion, was a blessing. They didn’t want her examining Caleb too closely.

They were given orders as to how to go through the portal, joining the group of others lucky enough to be allowed passage. Getting them all through was a balancing act. There was no space for error. Their fellow travelers included injured nobles, high-ranking military officials, and one mother, clinging desperately to her two small children. She’d gotten lucky.

When the spell was cast, they moved together in a mad dash. Stepping into the shimmering, arcane circle felt like falling. They plunged downwards through the tingling, disorienting magic, until suddenly they were on solid ground again, being pushed out of the circle by those piling up behind them.

It was what Caleb had feared. The endpoint of the teleportation circle lay within the Soltryce Academy itself. None of the others had ever been here, but most of them figured it out quickly enough. The high ceilings, the abundance if wizard robes, the floating chandeliers; everything here spoke of the arcane, and of fabulous wealth.

Caleb sunk into his coat, hunching forward like a cripple. The stress of being here again was almost too much, and his control began to slip. Only Beau’s steady arm around his shoulders kept him grounded. She spoke words of encouragement in a hushed whisper. None of them had opted to disguise themselves with magic, figuring that if someone were to see through it, it would only draw more attention. And after all, Caleb was not the boy who had walked these halls. The decades had done much to disguise him. He barely resembled Bren. Very little of his face was visible between the dirt, his beard, and the greasy sheets of hair on either side. Only his blue eyes shone through the mess, sharp and unmistakably intelligent.

The truth was, in this company, Caleb did not draw the eye. He was the caricature of a refugee. On the other hand, the colourful menagerie of races that composed the rest of the party stuck out like a soar thumb in Rexxentrum. Yasha was looming and wild, her great sword displayed prominently across her back. Caduceus was too tall, and too thin, his armour and staff covered in lichen. Rexxentrum was not a place for people like them.

Thankfully, Caleb saw no familiar faces, and no one attempted to stop them as they fled the academy, rushing out onto the cold streets of the empire’s capital city. It had been so long since Caleb had seen it, and the others were experiencing it for the first time. They stared in awe despite themselves. Rexxentrum was much bigger than any other city they’d ever been in. The Tri-Spire district in Zadash had been like a cheap replica of where they now found themselves. Gargantuan structures of metal and stone reached up into the heavens, bowing inwards over the street. The academy behind them boasted the largest spires of all. Its architecture seemed to have been created to prove it was possible, instead of from any practical need. Curling towers, bulging stained glass; Caleb couldn’t look at it. It would only remind him of how he’d felt the first time he’d seen it, and of how different he felt now.

The Mighty Nein moved through the city, taking it all in. The cobblestones were perfectly shaped and free of horse-dung. Lanterns lined the street periodically, already lit, as the sun sunk lower in the sky. This was a place for the wealthy, and they were drawing many looks. Some of The Mighty Nein took them proudly. Beau exuded aggression, chin up and a smirk on her face. Jester met every pair of watching eyes with a flirtatious smile. And if Caduceus was even cognoscente of the distain being directed at them, he was unbothered by it. The rest of The Mighty Nein, on the other hand, were far from comfortable.

Nott drew further into her cloak, taking nervous sips from her flask. Caleb’s breath came shallow and fast, and he rubbed at his arms incessantly. The rest of The Mighty Nein recognized his demeanor for the warning sign it was. Hurried plans were made. They needed to get him off the street. Going to the archive could wait until tomorrow morning. If Caleb slipped now, it was all over.

They circled around him, trying their best to provide reassurance, making awkward small-talk in an attempt to distract him. There was something blurry about Caleb’s form. It was like he was vibrating so fast it was invisible to the mortal eye.

Then, something happened. Everything looked the same as it had a moment before, yet as Jester and Beau exchanged a look, it was clear this weird feeling was shared. Perhaps they had all moved a fraction of a centimeter without remembering it, or maybe their bodies were positioned slightly different. Caleb made a strangled noise and slumped forward. Beau caught him before he could hit the ground, and they dragged him into the nearest ally, using Yasha’s hulking frame to block the entrance.

“Hold it together, Caleb,” pleaded Fjord. “We’re almost at the inn.”

“I’m sorry,” Caleb rasped, clutching at Beau’s robes. His eyes were wide and fearful.

“It’s okay,” Jester reassured, “you’re doing great. I know this can’t be easy.”

“We can take a little break here,” said Caduceus, “if you need it.”

“You don’t understand,” Caleb said, frustration mounting. “I failed! I lost control. I’m too stupid. I’m not learning fast enough.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nott. “What did you do?”

“I killed you all,” Caleb said.

Was it a confession? A threat? There was something venomous in his voice. Beau fought the urge to place herself between him and Jester. They were all friends here, after all.

“I don’t want to be back here,” he continued. “It reminds me of things which I do not wish to remember. I would rather be anywhere else. It was too much, and I slipped.” As he struggled to form the next words, Caleb summoned a bit of fire to his hands, letting it weave its way around his already blackened fingers. “I destroyed everything. It was all so fast I barely remember. You were all dust! I did it again. I’d done it again.”

Nott squeezed his hand, and the fire petered out. “Whatever you saw, it didn’t really happen. We’re all right here.”

“I don’t feel like dust,” said Caduceus, surveying his hand like he wasn’t quite sure.

“You were.” Caleb was vehement. “But I went back. I couldn’t let it happen, not again, so I went back.” There was a spark in Caleb’s eye, as he himself realized what he was saying. “I did it,” he whispered to himself, barely audible. “No. Wait.” He shook his head as if trying to nock something loose, looking up into the concerned faces of his friends. “I rebuilt you. I put you back together piece by piece. I rebuilt everything just like I took it apart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nott begged.

The feeling was unanimous.

“Have you considered that you might just be seein’ things?” Fjord asked. “What you’re describing don’t make much sense.”

“Maybe you’re losing your grasp on reality?” Jester grasped his chin, examining him like a doctor giving an exam. “That’s alright. If you’re not sure what’s real, we’ll be right here to tell you.”

This version of events was comforting. It was easy to understand. Perhaps that was why The Mighty Nein latched onto it so quickly. Caleb looked past those fussing over him, and his eye’s met Beau’s. There was a silent understanding between them in that moment, one heavy with fear.

They made it the rest of the way to the inn without incident. There was something satisfying about the look on the innkeeper’s face when a group of outsiders, caked in dirt and blood, bought out an entire floor in her high-class establishment. Their gold was still shiny, so she took it, but she turned up her nose as she did so.

As they turned in for the night, Caduceus made Caleb an extra strong batch of his tranquilizing tea, which he took gratefully. The wizard was out cold before he had a chance to finish his dinner.

The next morning, there was some debate on whether or not Caleb should come along as they went to the archive. Though she did not say it allowed, Beau was worried what The Cobalt Soul would do to him if they found out what he was. In the end, they were too afraid to split the party in this city, where they were beset by enemies from all sides. It might not have looked it, but for them Rexxentrum was nearly as dangerous as the front lines.

The colours of the Dwendalian Empire were displayed prominently in the streets. Flags and banners decorated every block. Soldiers marched by in formation. They had to make a show of protecting the capital, after all. The Mighty Nein tried to stay to the shadows without looking too suspicious. Nott had opted to disguise herself magically after all, as goblinoids were heavily associated with the Xhorhasian hoards. Things were different here than on the front, there was no comradery, only suspicion.

Beau had never been to the Rexxentrum archive, though she’d heard the collection dwarfed the one in Zadash by a considerable margin. Fjord had spoken to someone and gotten direction, but it still felt like they were lost.

Caduceus spotted it first. “Wow, I wonder what happened there?”

As the party rounded the corner, they all saw what he meant. One of the buildings on this block was missing a massive chunk. A fourth of it was just gone, exposing the interior. It was clearly recent, as repair efforts were virtually non-existent. Whatever had done this had been powerful. The building still stood only by virtue of how large and stout it was, the architecture practical by Rexxentrum standards.

Beau took off running towards it. Through the missing walls, bookshelves were visible. Shreds of paper littered the ground of the impromptu courtyard. A good distance ahead of the others, Beau stopped in the centre of it, staring up at the ragged edges where the floors dropped away. The archive was five levels in height, looming around her in a semicircle like the balconies of a colosseum.

It was strange, Beau had never felt a strong loyalty for The Cobalt Soul. She’d never been filled with the burning purpose to protect knowledge that had possessed her teachers. They were not her people. Why, then, was she so angry? She’d never like the monks, yet this atrocity shook her to the core.

“Shit,” said Fjord, standing cautiously near the edge of the wreckage.

“Yeah,” Beau agreed.

They gave her a moment, The Mighty Nein clustering awkwardly out on the street.

“Come on,” she addressed Fjord, “let’s go report. The rest of you should go sign in and enjoy the library. What’s left of it.”

They were already being watched. Beau could see the shadows moving on the upper levels.

“Whatever you need, Beau.” He came to stand beside her, placing a hand on her back.

Perhaps the battle worn robes gave her a level of authority, but Beau found herself commanding respect from the other monks she’d never experienced before. All she’d needed to do was drop a few half-formed sentences about Dairon and Bladegarden, and she and Fjord were let lead up to the office of the high sage. Fjord stayed silent, in awe of Beau. He’d gotten used to her name-dropping The Cobalt Soul on occasion, but he’d never been completely sure how much of it was bullshit. Seeing her now, burning with intensity, he felt small in contrast. He attempted to project an intimidating presence to feed into hers, but it wasn’t like she needed it.

They climbed one of the many spiral staircases that interspersed the library and entered a utilitarian office attended by an elderly, dark-skinned, human man with a bleached white beard, split into two neat braids. The head sage wore an aura of exhaustion, though there was something about his posture that told Fjord he probably didn’t want to fight him.

They got right down to business. Beau had never liked small talk, and for once this sentiment seemed to be shared. The monk told them what happened. The way he spoke was surprisingly matter-of-fact, considering how much pain the loss of the books clearly caused him. The Expositors stationed in Rexxentrum had made their displeasure with The Cerberus Assembly’s methods known. In turn, the mages had made it known that they were no longer pretending to play nice.

“Ikithon has unveiled his weapons,” said the sage, his words slow and accented, “he wishes to show his enemies what he is now capable of, whether that be the Kryn or those here who would appose him. He sees himself unbeatable. The Expositors are dead. We are archivists here. As much as we care for the empire, we must first be concerned with preserving the knowledge, in the name of our mistress. We have lost too much already; unreplaceable things.”

“You can’t just lie down and give up!” Beau’s fist slammed down on the desk, shaking the totem of Ioun displayed prominently in the centre.

“Beau…” Fjord reprimanded.

“We believe there are two successful versions of these living weapons,” the monk continued like she hadn’t spoken. “One, you have told me, stands with the empire on the front lines. The other, we here have been unfortunate enough to see in the flesh. Ikithon keeps him here like a guard dog. He is aware he has many enemies. What has been done to the archive, it is a threat—a good one. What we would sacrifice to push farther would be great.”

“Not to presume,” said Fjord, “but it seems like ya’ll could use all the help you can get.”

Fjord might not have been a monk, but he was right. It was with a defeated rationalism that the high sage admitted this, first with his face and then with his words. So, plans were made, both sides losing as much as they gained. The Mighty Nein were gaining a legitimacy to their actions, and a way into places which would have been out of their reach, but in turn they offered their lives to a cause that it was clear the monk believed would end in death. The Cobalt Soul gained a weapon they could use against The Cerberus Assembly without risking more of their people, or the cause they’d devoted their lives to, but were forced to place their trust in an unstable, external element. These were desperate times. War always was.

“The Expositors were rather forthright in their displeasure with the assembly,” warned the monk. “But The Cobalt Soul wields power in the empire, and these drastic measures they have taken against us are viewed negatively by many. Might I suggest our approach be more subtle? Perhaps we can pretend to cave to their bullying for the moment.”

“Where does the ruse end?” asked Beau.

“When we know more than we do right now,” said Fjord. He nodded at the high sage. “Subtly sounds like a mighty good idea. I believe this may be the beginning of a beautiful partnership.”

Down in the library below, the rest of the party waited with varying levels of impatience. Just like in Zadash, this archive was open to the public. Even now, in their compromised state, the monks did not turn people away. Though it was obvious they were stretched thin from the fact that only one archivist had been sent to supervise the five of them. Caleb, at least, was enraptured. He peppered the monk with questions, speaking more than he had in days. He’d locate a book, flip through it quickly, then move onto the next, categorizing their existence and position for some hypothetical later time.

He excitedly attempted to explain to the others how amazing this place was, the breadth of the knowledge, the age of some of the books. Here lay the beginnings of understanding so much, perhaps the beginnings of saving himself and everyone he’d ever loved; though he did not voice it so bluntly. Nott, at least, was trying to understand. She was happy he was happy and distracted. When Caleb was calm, he was far less dangerous.

Caduceus and Yasha were visibly confused by the library. Books didn’t mean much to them. What needed to be known could be passed down by word of mouth or taught through experience. Caduceus nodded along with Caleb’s explanations all the same, but it was clear from the vacant look in his eyes he wasn’t hearing a word of it.

Jester entertained herself by rearranging the books on the shelves while their guide wasn’t looking. There were so many books in here there was a chance they’d never notice! She could almost hear the Traveller’s laugher in her head, but despite how good a job she was doing, she realized she wasn’t enjoying herself as much as she ordinality would have. Fear and uncertainty loomed ever-present, and eventually Jester reached a point where she couldn’t wait for Beau and Fjord a moment longer. She needed to know they were okay, despite there being no reason they’d be anything but.

Thankfully for her, Caleb had just begun to ask the monk about a particular era of religious text from Issylra, and she slipped away unnoticed. Jester had almost made it back to the entrance of the library when she saw Beau and Fjord stepping off a spiral staircase. They exchanged a few words, and Fjord headed into the stacks to find the party. Instead of helping him, Jester opted to follow Beau. She headed back towards the destroyed part of the library too fast for Jester to keep up without running.

When Jester caught up, Beau was standing in the rubble, just staring. She was wound tight, fists clenched, a look of determination on her face. Entirely absorbed in thoughts of things to come, Beau did not notice Jester approach.

“You alright, Beau?” Jester asked.

Starting a little, Beau spun to face her. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, dumbly. Then, Beau surged forward, cupping Jester’s face and kissing her on the lips. Jester was so shocked she didn’t immediately react. They lingered there for a moment, neither of them pulling away, lips pressed together in a frozen kiss. Eventually, Beau released her grip on the back of Jester’s neck, and they pulled apart.

“Sorry,” Beau apologized, her voice a little husky.

Jester touched her lips, still processing. It was like a scene in a book, dramatic yet confusing, and she was struggling to write the next line. Beau stared at the ground, biting her lip.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jester finally spoke. Beau did not immediately respond, still mentally kicking herself, so Jester continued. “You know, that was only the second kiss I’ve ever had.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” said Beau, finally meeting Jester’s eyes. “But I just agreed to do something really stupid, and I needed to get this off my chest before something happens to one of us.” She swallowed. “There were so many things I wish I’d told Molly.”

“Did you want to kiss him, too?”

Beau laughed, but it was a wet sound. “Fuck no! Jess… I’ve liked a lot of girls, but I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you. I think it’s because you’re my best friend too, you know?”

“I care about you a lot too, Beau,” Jester admitted. “I love you and I think I’d be really happy right now, if I wasn’t so scared.” She stepped forward and pressed a quick peck to Beau’s lips. “I don’t want to lose you, or anyone else. What did you agree to?”

Beau was completely disarmed by the soft sincerity in Jester’s purple eyes. She was trapped there, and she couldn’t have lied, even if she’d wanted to.

“I’m going to represent The Cobalt Soul at The Cerberus Assembly’s war council. It’s where they sit down with all the other groups of interest within the empire and show them exactly how much more powerful they are. The monks… after what happened they don’t want to risk sending anyone else important.” At Jester’s worried expression, Beau continued. “I’m not going alone. The head sage was okay with lending out a few extra sets of robes. It’ll be me and Fjord, and maybe someone else.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Beau was already shaking her head. “Jess, you can’t. I don’t want you there. It’s too dangerous. If something happens then it will be my fault that you got hurt.”

Anger welled up in Jester, hot and desperate. “I love you Beau, but if this is what you caring about me is going to mean, then I don’t want it.”

“I…”

They stood only half a foot apart, the tension indescribable.

“You—you can’t just kiss me then run off into danger. It’s not fair!” Jester crossed her arms across her chest. “We’re in this together. That’s what this should mean.”

A long moment stretched between them, both women closer to tears than the other could see.

“Alright,” Beau conceded, threading her finger’s through Jester’s. The other woman slowly relaxed her defensive posture so they were standing hand in hand. “We’ll get through this. Together. All of us, The Mighty Nein, we’re a family. As long as we’re together, nothing’s impossible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn this is a long chapter. I hope I didn't rush through it too fast, but there are so many plot points I want to get to.
> 
> So... are you guys excited for Trent to show up? I definitely am!


	3. Wish the sun to continue to rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“They have killed many of our people. The skies to the east darken, and we’d want to keep that darkness from spreading. We wish the sun to continue to rise on this empire.” – Trent Ikithon (Critical Role 2x18)_

Deep within the bowels of the Soltryce Academy, an important meeting had just begun. The tower in which it took place was inaccessible to students, its interior unique from the rest of the academy’s architecture. It was made of polished black stone, lit by crystals that emanated a light purple glow. The meeting room was spacious but windowless, furnished only by a long, oval table. Around it sat the members of The Cerberus Assembly, and those they had invited here to discuss the war effort.

Surely, these honoured guests were the most important people in the empire. The emperor’s two most trusted advisors were attending; an ageing man and woman wearing the finest robes. Then, there was a general from The Righteous Brand and his party, dressed in full armour. There were representatives from the empire’s mercenary forces, from weapons manufacturing out of Hupperdook, and from the Rexxentrum Crownsguard. There were clerics of all six of the empire’s sanctioned deities, leading alchemists, owners of crucial mines, starosta of notable cities, and three monks from The Cobalt Soul.

It was no surprise to the other visitors that the monks were here. They were respected and feared across Exandria, their archives a great pride for any city that housed them. Though it was notable that their three chosen representatives were among the youngest people in the room.

Beau, Jester, and Fjord sat near the end of the table furthest from the mages. A half-orc and a tiefling stuck out in this sea of humans and elves. The only other attendee of any notable race was, shockingly, a Drow. She sat on Ikithon’s right side, dressed in wizard’s robes, looking eerily like the Kryn mages they’d seen on the frontlines. Despite the looks they were drawing; Jester and Fjord had been treated with nothing but performative respect since they’d arrived. This did very little to soothe their nerves. They were both feeling naked without their armour. Dressed only in thin robes and wrappings, they found themselves wondering how Beau did it. Though Beau was just as tense as they were. To say they were in over their heads would be an understatement. They’d really outdone themselves this time.

For one thing, there was a chance Trent Ikithon and Oremid Hass would recognize them. Already they’d caught Ikithon examining them, silently cataloging from his place near the head of the table. He was not a pleasant person to behold, skin too yellow, white hair as thin as cobwebs, and a smile that had to be intentionally threatening. Now, with what they knew about his past with Caleb, all three of them felt a little sick looking at him.

“Thank you all for being here today,” said Ludinus De'leth, voice amplified by magical means. Once he had the room’s attention, it returned to normal, though the elderly elf still spoke with authority. “I understand that these are difficult times for us all, so your presence here is appreciated.” He paused, surveying the room.

Jester had always been good at reading people, and she could tell that these powerful people—who absolutely should not have been afraid—were scared. The air in this room was suffocating. The way the purple, arcane light reflected off the dark wood table made everything feel like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Under the table, her hand found Beau’s and squeeze. Beau returned the pressure.

“There has been a lot of talk about The Cerberus Assembly recently,” De’leth continued, “and it has been decided that our best policy, moving forward, is transparency. We are all on the same side, after all. We all wish the sun to continue to rise over the empire.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“It is speculation on your methods that has caused a stir.” One of the clerics of Ioun spoke up. This party of similarly blue-robed individuals had been exchanging looks with the trio since they’d arrived. “Though it is only speculation, I am sure.”

“We’re at war!” the general piped up, jumping to the mages’ defense before they’d even had a breath to defend themselves. “Them sending their people to the front line was the first good news we’d had in weeks. At this point I don’t give a damn where the Assembly’s power is coming from, as long as they don’t pull it back. The Kryn are—”

De’leth raised a hand and the general fell silent. “The support is appreciated, Wilhelm, but as our partners in this war, these fine people deserve to understand what we have been doing.” He paused for a moment, as if daring someone else to speak up. “While all members of The Cerberus Assembly have had their attention focused on the war effort, this recent breakthrough in the empire’s power can be attributed to one man.” He gestured to Ikithon where he sat at his right hand. “The Archmage of Civil Influence, Master Trent Ikithon. He has plans to spread the fruits of his research to the rest of the assembly, but for the moment… he is the expert.”

Ikithon’s thin smile widened. “Thank you, Ludinus. I can take it from here. For decades now, I have been pouring my time and resources into researching a new kind of magic. It is known to the Kryn as dunamancy.”

There were a few gasps.

Ikithon seemed to draw power from them, continuing with even more sickening confidence than before. “I was never so naïve as to believe our tenuous peace with the Kryn would continue. Make no mistake, we have never stopped being at war. I knew when they finally made their move, even The Cerberus Assembly, as powerful as we are, would be no match for their magic. So, a few decades ago I began experiments to harness it for the empire. Now, I have surpassed them! Several of my protégées wield the true power of dunamancy that the Kryn only postures at.”

“The wizard girl from the front?” asked one of the mercenary captains. “I thought the reports were exaggerated. I’ve heard she can take out an army singlehandedly.”

“That is no exaggeration,” said Ikithon. “Astrid is a living weapon. She is my greatest success. The Kryn Dynasty build their empire on the lands of the betrayer gods. They are backed by dark powers, yet our _gods_ are much stingier with their gifts.”

“Watch what you say, mage!” threatened a representative of the church of The Platinum Dragon. He got to his feet. Clad entirely in polished armor, he struck an imposing figure.

Ikithon was undeterred, and he stood up as well, extending a ring-covered hand in front of him like one might brandish a sword. His nails were long and well manicured, like claws.

“I speak truth not disrespect. The hoards of Xhorhas are backed by gods. Our _benefactors_ are far more distant, yet we must stand against them all the same. Decades ago I set out to build gods of our own, and I have succeeded!”

“Trent!” Ludinus De'leth banged his fist on the table. “Enough!”

“You demand transparency, so that is what I give to them. To the public I may paint my creations as merely war heroes, but you have brought me here and demanded I cease doing my job, so I do not give you rhetoric but truth. What I have created are far, far more than heroes. They are something which has not walked the earth since The Whispered One two decades ago.”

“This is out of hand!” the platinum paladin’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “This man is guilty of blasphemy and human experimentation. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

You could have cut the tension in the room with a blade. Beau clutched her staff and Fjord prepared to summon the falchion. Jester had brought neither her axe nor her shield, and she hugged herself uselessly, whispering a prayer to The Traveler. They seemed moments from conflict. Many of the other religious representatives looked nearly as angry as the standing paladin.

“I enhanced the abilities of willing students,” Ikithon hissed. “In fact, one of them still resides here in the academy. Would you like to meet him? In the name of transparency.” Suddenly, he was staring right at Beau, Jester, and Fjord. “Representatives of The Cobalt Soul have already had that honor, though I fear they are not the same ones here with us today.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on them.

“I assume you were filled in by your superiors?” Ikithon addressed them.

Beau was paralyzed. She was so angry she could barely think. Here they were surrounded by allies, surprisingly, the same religious leaders she’d always held in contempt. Surely together they were powerful enough? Fjord knew Beau well enough to read her thoughts on her face. She would be unable to yield, it was not in her nature, but he had seen what Astrid was capable of.

Before Beau could speak, he stood up. “Indeed, we were. Your meeting with the previous Expositors was certainly enlightening.”

“What—” Beau hissed, but Jester clutched her arm, shaking her head.

Fjord continued. “The Cobalt Soul has opted for a less aggressive approach, moving forward. We wish to observe and collect information. That’s what we do. But these are war times, after all, and as long as we are kept in the loop, we are planning to take no further action against the Assembly.”

As good as Fjord was at political words, his true meaning was clear. The Cobalt Soul was caving. They were afraid. The fear rippled outwards, melting through the bravado of the council. The message had been sent. Trent Ikithon could threaten religious leaders with impunity.

Beau couldn’t take it. This was the opposite of what she’d promised Dairon. She tried to stand up, but Jester’s nails dug into her arm.

The other woman leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “Don’t Beau. We need to know more so we can save Caleb.”

Beau remained silent, though she was practically shaking with rage.

“Finally,” said Ikithon, “someone with some sense.”

Fjord gave a half bow before sitting back down. He was mirrored, shockingly, by the paladin, after one of his colleges whispered a few words. Finally, Ikithon himself reclaimed his seat, making a show of rearranging his robes as he did so.

Beau was still staring at Fjord. The way he’d looked, head bowed, monk vestments hanging loosely around him, he was barely recognizable as her friend. He was like one of those stuffy pricks from her time in forced training. Where was the Fjord who had suggested killing De'leth the last time they’d seen him? Though it was true that Fjord was sometimes impulsive, his joking suggestions extreme, he was very aware that their current situation was no joke. He knew they were one incorrect word away from death. He could recognize power when he saw it, whether it be in Uk’otoa’s massive form or Ikithon’s confident smirk.

The clerics of Ioun were watching them as if they’d expected something else. Beau couldn’t meet their eyes. She stared at her lap, fighting angry tears.

“It is a shame what happened to the Rexxentrum archive,” one of them said. “You have our condolences.”

“They are appreciated,” said Fjord.

“May The Knowing Mistress watch over us all,” said Beau, knowing her anger was obvious in her quivering voice, and not particularly caring.

For the first time since the meeting had begun, one of the emperor’s representatives spoke up. She was a fairly elderly human, but if she was scared, she had perfected the poker face. “I hope we can continue this discussion in a civil manner. To reiterate an earlier point, we are all on the same side.”

“That being said,” the male representative added, “we would like to ask The Cerberus Assembly what safeguards they have in place to prevent the misuse of this power on Master Ikithon’s behalf. No offense meant, of course. The emperor is incredibly grateful for this contribution to the strength of our forces.”

Ikithon looked as if he meant to speak again but was cut off by Lady Vess DeRogna. Just like the last time The Mighty Nein had seen her, she was heavily laden with jewelry. A few of her rings tapped absently against the table as she spoke.

“There have been considerations on this matter. Master Ikithon is in the process of figuring out how his knowledge can be dispersed amongst the assembly.”

“Of course,” said Ikithon, just the right amount of offense dripped into his voice, “it is for the good of the empire that I do not place all these eggs in one basket.”

“Master Ikithon is aware he is not infallible,” said De’leth, and it sounded a little like a challenge. “In fact, in the name of transparency, we plan to come forward with one glaring mistake he has made in his development of dunamancy, so that we all may adequately prepare for any fallout it may cause.”

Ikithon flinched, though it might have been for show. “Ah, yes. Building weapons like this is not without risk. Martinet De’leth speaks the truth. There is a mistake of mine I must confess.”

“Will this impact the presence of your protégées on the front lines?” asked a halfling man, a starosta from some eastern township, fearing the advancement of the Kryn into his territory.

“There is very little chance both my students will be required to deal with any… complications. In fact, this may come to nothing. But we should all prepare ourselves regardless.” Ikithon took a moment to collect his thoughts, the table watching him in dead silence. “You must understand, I have been training these subjects from adolescence. You cannot just slap any old soldier through the processes and expect results. I knew when I started this endeavour that I didn’t just need test subjects, I needed students. To turn people into beings with this level of power, they have to be strong enough physically, mentally, and in the arcane.”

“Well that’s too bad,” interjected the general, “I was planning on asking how many more of these super-wizards we could manufacture.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” said Ikithon, “but Astrid and Eodwulf are more than a decade in the making. There were many mistakes in the processes. In the beginning, when my understanding was weak, my methods were more dangerous.”

There was a spark in De’leth eyes. He watched Ikithon like a cat watching a mouse.

Ikithon stared right back, continuing his report without fear. “For my two successful subjects, I had one failure. It was such a shame. He seemed the most promising in the beginning, but it became clear fairly early on that he was unfit. The problem is, by this point, they had already been altered through exposure to dunamantic energy. The groundwork of what we see now, in their activated state, had already been set. I planned to keep him contained, to observe him to better understand the long-term effects of dunamantic exposure, even if he was not trained to use it. Though he was supposed to be dead before activation.”

Beau had released Jester’s hand, her arm hanging limply. None among them had a poker face good enough to completely conceal their shock. Thankfully, no one was paying them any attention. They should have expected this, yet none of them had. They had been persisting under the delusion that Ikithon believed Caleb dead, or perhaps had not expected his powers to manifest. To have him brought up like this, as an item of such importance, had shaken them, and nothing Ikithon was saying helped sooth their worry for their friend.

“Supposed to be?” asked the female advisor, incredulous.

“About five years ago I lost track of him. This level of carelessness is unacceptable and trust me when I say I will do everything in my power to rectify this mistake. He escaped from the asylum in which he was kept. I do not believe his powers could have manifested before activation, so I suspect he used more traditional arcane means.”

“So, you’re saying you’ve got an unstable, wild-card, version of your weapon running around somewhere?” asked the mercenary commander, somewhere between fear and anger. “Why didn’t you just kill him?”

“At the stage at which Bren was removed from the processes, the subjects were unstable. The way in which they channeled dunamancy was raw and undefined. I was unsure what exactly would happen if I tried to kill him, or if his powers would even manifest at all. However, if no further use could be found for him, that was the eventual plan,” Ikithon confessed. “I did not think him lucid enough to attempt an escape. It was a grave oversite. To make matters worse, the mental training required to withstand the stress of using such magic is immense. Bren had undergone almost none by the time he failed.”

“I assume you tried to find him?” the advisor asked, the outrage in her voice mounting.

“Of course. In fact, he is the primary reason we delayed activation this long despite the grave situation on the warfront.”

“Are we sure he was far enough along to even have his powers manifest?” asked Oremid Hass. “Or perhaps he is dead.”

“I would love to give you the answer you seek,” said Ikithon, “but we are fairly certain Bren is still out there somewhere. Dunamancy on the scale wielded by my subjects leaves ripples. Astrid and Eodwulf, as well as devices of mine, have picked up on a third source.”

Fjord had to nudge Beau to remind her to breathe. They were all thinking the same thing. How well could they sense him? Did they know he was in Rexxentrum?

“So,” said the male advisor, only slightly calmer than his counterpart, “give it to us straight. Exactly how concerned should we be?”

“When attempting to create gods, it would have been irresponsible to leave them tethered to mortal whims… mortal attachments. I realized that emotional interaction with dunamancy this powerful is incredibly dangerous. I was unable to strip Bren of these mortal things. He was too weak to control the power I gave to him.” Ikithon almost sounded a little sad. “I lost a half-finished weapon. I misjudged him and it is my greatest regret. He is too dangerous to be allowed to exist.”

“Perhaps he can be recruited to the cause,” said Oremid Hass. “Three gods are better than two.”

“I appreciate your optimism, Oremid,” said Ikithon, “but he’s unstable, unfinished. Even if he was willing, it would be too great a risk.”

Discussion of Bren did not continue for much longer. Ikithon gave a description, which didn’t sound much like Caleb past the hair colour, and advised everyone to come to him immediately if he was sighted. Then, the discussion moved on to the war effort and the empire’s next moves, though the trio was barely listening. The council spoke of Astrid and Eodwulf’s capabilities, if Eodwulf would be leaving the capital, and if the empire should make any aggressive moves. Ikithon was being a little cagey about Eodwulf, but Beau, Jester, and Fjord were not paying enough attention to pick up on this. Each was busy concocting their own desperate plans, trying to think of some way they all made it through this with Caleb intact. Unable to talk to each other, they made do with exchanging panicked looks.

They’d been in the room for almost two hours and Jester was beginning to fidget. Though things finally seemed to be wrapping up.

“Understanding how dangerous dunamancy is,” said Ikithon, “you’ll see why I am tentative to send Eodwulf out unsupervised. It is not easy to control magic this powerful, and I intend to be there for him if he needs me. Don’t blame him for having more difficulty than Astrid, this is not an easy burden for either of them to bear. However, if any of you are still curious, I would like to invite you to meet him. It may ease your fears a little to see him as human, even if that is no longer entirely true.”

Discussion broke out around the table, as the various groups made their decisions. In the din, the trio finally felt safe enough to speak.

“We’re going, right?” asked Beau. There was a little bitterness in her voice, a holdover from when Jester and Fjord had forced her to cave to Ikithon’s threats.

“Well, we’ve made it this far,” said Fjord. “Would seem silly to run now.”

“Don’t worry,” said Jester, taking her hand again. “They don’t know Caleb like we do. They don’t know how strong he is. We’re here trying to save him, but we also have to trust him.”

“You’re right,” said Beau. “You’re always right.”

Jester grinned, batting her eyelashes, and for second Beau forgot how utterly fucked everything was.

About half the attendees opted to follow Ikithon, milling about in the hall outside as the others filtered away. This group included the general and his party, the emperor’s representatives, and the clerics of The Platinum Dragon, among others. Notably, none of The Cerberus Assembly aside from Oremid Hass decided to stay. Though the Drow, who they assumed was a wizard, stood dutifully at Ikithon’s side.

“Ariadne,” he addressed her, “would you mind going ahead to warn Eodwulf he’s going to have company?”

She nodded curtly then slipped away into the purple-tinted shadows. Ikithon stood facing them all like a tour guide, exuding an aura that was equal parts smug and performatively polite.

After a few warnings about manners, which were probably veiled threats, Ikithon lead them down the hall towards the central stairs, every footstep echoing on the dark stone. Down they wound, past the level at which they’d entered, passing nothing of interest aside from the glowing, purple crystals. Finally, the emerged on the bottom floor which was a single hallway ending in a door.

Ariadne waited in the frame, beckoning them over. “He says he won’t mind the company.”

“Perfect.” Ikithon clasped his hands together, turning to the group. “Go on in. Feel free to ask him questions, as I’m sure you are all capable of a level of decorum. Oh, and please do stay outside the rune.”

Ariadne opened the door, leading the nervous visitors through. Beau, Jester, and Fjord brought up the rear, but they were forced to stop when Ikithon stepped into their path.

His yellow skin stretched into a deceptively warm smile. “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you again, but I am curious how one goes from the Victory Pity in Zadash to here. I saw your fight. It was entertaining.”

Ignoring the pounding of her heart, Beau spoke. She’d lead Jester and Fjord here, she couldn’t allow her stupidity to get them killed. “I thought it was obvious. We’re here on behalf of The Cobalt Soul. I told Headmaster Hass as much the last time we met.”

“Yes, I remember.” Ikithon was examining them intently, his eyes tracing Jester’s body, then Fjord’s, like someone might examine a piece of meat, before focusing back on Beau. “I hadn’t pegged your entire group as Cobalt Soul, certainly not your friend from Xhorhas?”

“We’re subcontractors,” squeaked Jester.

“Some of us joined later than others,” Beau cut in, “but trust me, we are all dedicated to the mission. The Cobalt Soul sent us for a reason. Seeing as how things went for the last Expositors, they don’t really want to send the head sage.”

Ikithon laughed. “I appreciated your honest, Beauregard. And it is regrettable what happened with the Expositors. I truly wish to do everything within my power to smooth things over with The Cobalt Soul. I do not wish for us to be at odds.”

“Then what we need is information,” said Fjord. “The Cobalt Soul will be much more comfortable with a bit more knowledge on how dunamancy works. The unknown is dangerous”

Beau and Jester both nodded earnestly.

“Very well,” said Ikithon. “Though that is easier said than done. The three of you might not be your average monks, but I am starting to see why they send you. Come meet Eodwulf. That should be a start, at least, then we can talk further about what other information The Cobalt Soul requires.”

The room was large and circular. Nine black obelisks covered in runes formed a nonagon in the centre. The large area between them was raised a step off the floor, making the visitors feel like they were surrounding a stage. Magical glyphs glowing a pale white joined obelisk to obelisk, encircling the platform. It was like a cell without bars. Inside there was a bed, a table and chair, and a few scattered belongings. The only area not visible was a few cubic feet surrounded by screens. Though this little zone of privacy only served to highlight how utterly exposed everything else was.

Fjord specifically found himself reeling at the horror of it. To be treated like a caged animal, gawked at like a side-show attraction. It was dehumanizing. Seeing this room had tapped into a primal fear of his he hadn’t even realized he had.

The room’s inhabitant sat cross-legged on a mat, observing his visitors with an expression of bored indifference. Slowly, Eodwulf got to his feet. He was as tall as Fjord, well-built with a square jaw and a blond buzz-cut. He did not look like one expected a wizard to look. Unlike Caleb, he looked like he could throw a punch.

“Eodwulf, I presume?” asked the general.

Introductions were made, though even as he acknowledged his visitors, Eodwulf paced the length of the platform. Restless as he was, he never crossed the line of glyphs. Fjord was immobilized by the horror of it, while Jester simply saw a darker mirror of her own childhood. For her this room was less a nightmare and more a memory. Beau saw a dangerous weapon somehow contained, examining the glyphs and obelisks more than the man himself.

Eodwulf had not yet looked to them, where they stood by the door, so the trio stayed unintroduced. Ikithon moved up to stand beside the Drow, but did not intervene as the other guests spoke to him.

“Why are you down here?” asked one of the advisors. “What’s all this?”

“I thought Master Ikithon would have told you.” His accent was Zemnian, identical to Caleb’s, though the voice was deeper. “I have had difficulty controlling dunamancy in the past. It is safer this way, to contain me if I were to slip. I hope soon we will be more confident in my abilities, like Astrid. There is much work to do.”

Cautiously, Beau, Jester, and Fjord floated up to the edge, examining Eodwulf’s enclosure for clues about what exactly it did to contain his powers. The shape and colour of it reminded them of the dodecahedron, but past that none of them understood anything about it.

While the visitors were fascinated by him, Eodwulf lost interest quickly. Outright ignoring a request to demonstrate his power, he turned his attention to Ikithon. “Master Ikithon, is there further news from the front? Has Astrid made progress into Xhorhas?”

Eodwulf scanned Ikithon and Ariadne before moving onto the representatives from The Cobalt Soul. Noticing them for the first time, he did not look away, tilting his head slightly to the side. He met Fjord’s eyes, seemingly so fixated he did not hear Ikithon’s response. Fjord looked down, but he could still feel Eodwulf’s eyes on him.

“…and establishing a solid line takes priority over any aggressive action.” Ikithon faltered, a little annoyance creeping in. “Are you alright, Eodwulf?”

One moment, Eodwulf was on the far side of the nonagon. The next, he was only a few inches from the party, staring down at them. He’d moved so quickly it was impossible to tell whether he’d ran or flown. To the mortal eye he’d been nothing but a blur. At this distance it was obvious the one he was staring at was Fjord. Beau and Jester might as well have been invisible.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Fjord attempted, faltering a little under Eodwulf’s piercing gaze. “The name’s Fjord. These lovely ladies and I are here on behalf of The Cobalt Soul.”

“You’re not like the ones from before,” he said. “I can see your magic.”

Fjord stiffened. It felt like Eodwulf could see into him. His blue eyes were empty in a way that was difficult to describe, and Fjord wondered what exactly Ikithon had done to separate his students from their humanity.

“The Cobalt Soul has many agents with many different skills,” Beau came to his rescue.

Eodwulf acted as if she hadn’t spoken, instead turning to Ikithon. “I haven’t seen magic like his before. It is wound all through him. It is a little like Dunamis but…” His face screwed up in concertation, looking eerily like Caleb when he was attempting to solve a particularly difficult problem. “What is it, Master? Do you know?”

“I’m afraid I do not.” Now Ikithon was examining Fjord as well. “As interesting as this is, it is also not our business. Don’t be rude to our guests, Eodwulf. The Cobalt Soul is a respected ally. We don’t wish a repeat of last time.”

“What is it?” Eodwulf asked Fjord. “That thing?” He paused. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

As good as he was at spinning words, there was a certain level of pressure after which Fjord began to falter. “I’m not entirely certain as to what you’re referring to. I do dabble in a bit of magic, but to someone like you it’s not of much consequence.”

Eodwulf sighed, turning back to Ikithon in annoyance. “He has a connection to something. I believe it is worth understanding. We should keep him here, try to understand what kind of magic this is.”

Beau’s hand immediately went to her staff. She was the only member of the trio visibly armed, and she deliberately fell into a fighting stance. Picking up on the shift in energy, many of the other visitors began to subtly move towards the door, though the representatives from the church of The Platinum Dragon stood firm in solidarity.

“Relax,” Ikithon ordered. “Eodwulf is out of line. I intend to do nothing of the sort. It’s true your group has intrigued me since I spoke to your Xhorhasian friend in Zadash, but I want us to be allies not enemies. I hope that someday we can all sit down so I can unravel this mystery, but right now we have more pressing concerns. The war comes first.” He spoke the last sentence in a louder voice, addressing it to the room.

Beau relaxed her stance, but the adrenaline was still circulating through her body. There were too many eyes on them, the rest of the visitors examining them curiously.

“Eodwulf will be unable to demonstrate dunamancy today,” Ikithon said. “This is a judgment call given his current demeanor. This dunamantic rune keeps his powers supressed, and I do not feel comfortable having him leave it at the moment.”

There were a few protests which Ikithon brushed aside. “If you have any further questions feel free to ask me now. We’ve bothered Eodwulf enough today, I think.”

Some more grudgingly than others, the group convened around the door. Ikithon stood in the centre of the clump, fielding questions about the nature of the rune. Much to the party’s frustration, it sounded like something like this was incredibly difficult and time-consuming to create.

Once the attention had been drawn away from Eodwulf, the Drow woman jumped up onto the platform. After the great care Eodwulf had taken not to cross the glyphs, it was strange seeing the ease with which Ariadne passed over them. Subconsciously, many had been imagining a forcefield of sorts penning Eodwulf in. Torn between listing to Ikithon or paying attention to them, only Jester made out her words.

“We should talk. There are a few things I want your input on. Things in the lab are stagnating.”

Eodwulf nodded, and the pair moved to sit at the table. And though she strained, Jester could make out no more of their conversation.

Back near the door, Ikithon’s exaggerated hospitality was waning, and group after group was being sent on their way. Though it was a tragedy for those with work to do, the grind of politics was inescapable. There would be more meetings like this one. Not even the likes of Trent Ikithon could escape that; for the time being, at least.

By the time Ariadne and Eodwulf finished their whispered conversation, only The Cobalt Soul and church of The Platinum Dragon remained.

She gave Ikithon a slight bow. “I’m going to get back to work.”

“Of course. Please go ahead.”

As she left, Ariadne donned her hood, blending seamlessly with the shadows, and Beau had to bite her tongue to prevent an inappropriate question. It would be rude of her to assume anything about Ariadne based on her race, no matter how suspicious she seemed. Asking Ikithon about her could come across the wrong way. Behind them, Eodwulf paced the length of his cage, watching but staying silent.

The platinum Paladin spoke up, slightly less aggressive than he’d been in the meeting, but confrontational all the same. “Whatever information you intend to share with The Cobalt Soul, we would like to know as well.”

“Of course,” said Ikithon, giving Beau a look, “though I’m unsure what further knowledge they could want that hasn’t already been disclosed.”

The paladin’s party was composed of himself and two clerics, and Beau, Jester, and Fjord were oddly glad they were here. They felt like allies, though no specific words had been spoken to that effect.

“I’ll be honest with you,” said Fjord, “some of this business with the runes has been going right over my head, despite me dabblin’ in magic. I wondered if you had any notes, books and scrolls for the archive, you know?”

It was a good strategy. Beau was glad Fjord was here. She hadn’t thought of that. Ikithon was making excuses, claiming the research wasn’t ready for public consumption, even after Fjord swore they’d keep it under lock and key. The fact he was so unwilling only made Beau more eager, but it seemed Ikithon would give them nothing unless they arranged some later meeting. It appeared he would give the no information unless he got some in return. It made Beau uncomfortable the way he stared at them, like they were specimens under glass.

Jester had been distracted watching Ariadne disappear down the corridor. Making use of the first lull in conversation, she interjected with a question of her own.

“Are you still doing more research? Into dunamancy stuff, I mean?”

“Yes of course,” Ikithon answered, slightly bemused by Jester’s rushed demeanor. “There is much we still do not understand.”

“Where do you do the research?” Jester asked. “Is it here in the city where it could blow up and kill everyone?” She made an explosive hand motion to illustrate her point.

“Our lab is right here in the academy, but don’t worry, we take any and all precautions to stop something like that from happening.”

“Where is it?” Jester pushed. “If you have nothing to hide, you won’t mind telling us.”

Ikithon smiled another thin-lipped smile, but there was a tightness around his eyes. “It is below ground, just across the quad, but I’m afraid we’re not equipped to give tours at the moment. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“Right,” said Jester. “Well as long as you swear it’s not going to blow up…”

Much to Jester’s relief, her questions had been enough to goad the paladin into a round of questions about the nature of Ikithon’s current experiments. Making use of the distraction, Jester took a few steps away, and covered her face with her hand, hoping to conceal the verbal component of her spell. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Jester cast Sending to Nott. She knew there was a good chance Ikithon would pick up on what she was doing, but he wouldn’t be able to hear what she said, even if he deduced what she’d cast.

_“A Drow lady will be coming out of the tower we’re in. See where she goes. It’s Ikithon’s lab. Thanks!”_

Twenty words. A rare victory for Jester, the message sent in its entirety.

In the shadows of the Soltryce Academy’s spires, Nott received the message. She and Yasha were here as surveillance and backup, not—in Nott’s opinion—that it would do any good. They were surrounded by wizards. To be fair, most of them were young. As a bell chimed, they poured out into the halls, arms full of books and scrolls.

“Come on,” Nott told Yasha, moving with the crowd.

Nott was wearing Veth’s skin. She hated it; that one of these mages might be able to see through her truth, accuse her of being something she wasn’t. For the moment though, she was far less conspicuous than Yasha. The barbarian had wrapped her large sword and tattered clothes in a thick cloak, but she still had a looming presence that sent little mages skittering to the other side of the hall. Still, it had been determined having her here was preferable to going alone. They were far too scattered already but bringing Caleb to this place had been out of the question. He was being supervised by Caduceus in a café around the block. Caleb had refused to remain in the inn while his friends walked into the hornets’ nest on his behalf. Though Nott was not completely sure Beau’s reasons for doing this were entirely to do with Caleb.

This part of the Soltryce Academy was fairly open. Airy halls with high arches connected class to class. The large doors to the interior quad were already propped open, and Nott and Yasha followed the stream of students out into the fresh air. The black tower into which their friends had disappeared stood alone in the centre of the greenspace.

“I keep looking at them,” said Yasha, “I keep thinking, this is what Caleb looked like. Some of them look so much like him.”

Nott made a joke to hide how much Yasha’s matter-of-fact observation burned. “Nah, I don’t see it. Much less dirty.”

The academy was a public place, but Nott knew they were drawing eyes. She grabbed Yasha’s wrist, pulling the large woman off the path, stopping at a shady bench near the wall. Their sight line to the tower was partially obscured by a bush.

“Be small,” Nott instructed.

“Uh… I can try?”

Leaving Yasha on the bench, Nott peered around the bush, her sharp eyes focused on the tower doors. It was only a minute before they opened, and just as Jester had said, a hooded woman stepped out into the sun. She hunched forward, hiding from the day within folds of fabric. The familiar vice of anxiety began tightening over Nott’s lunges. There was something about her Nott couldn’t place. She was heading for a set of doors perpendicular from the ones they’d come through, walking briskly.

“Stay here,” said Nott.

Veth had never drawn the eye, always ignorable, always in the background. Nott was much the same, as she floated from tree, to group of people, to shadow. She’d almost caught up with the Drow before she entered the building.

Inside, to the left of the door, a massive statue of Ludinus De'leth presided over the corridor. Nott hid between its feet. The hall was empty aside from the two of them, but the Drow had not seemed to notice her as she entered. In the cool shadows, she let her hood drop, and all the breath left Nott’s body. Seeing the face of this woman, she collapsed against the stone of De’leth’s slipper, a tiny ball of fabric, trembling.

Nott had seen this face once before, then over and over again in her nightmares.

_“Make her suffer.”_

The world came rushing in all at once, like water, and Nott was drowning. By the time she’d awoken a goblin, the mage had been gone. Now, here she stood, the person who had done this to her. It took all of Nott’s self-restraint not to go for her crossbow. She could save neither Caleb nor Yeza if she got herself killed.

Living with the goblin clan, Nott had never been able to get a straight answer on who the mage had been. It had never made sense to her. If the travelling wizard could bring people back to life, why not the goblin Nott had killed?

After weeks of Nott asking, the torturer had told her only, _“she wanted to practice her bad magic. It scares us, but she gave us food, and revenge. Now she is gone, and you are Nott.”_

There had been no other answers to be had. Nott had figured the goblins didn’t even understand what had been done to her. Stupid beasts. It was clear now that, just like Caleb, she had been an experiment, a victim of The Cerberus Assembly’s quest for knowledge. A half-dead prisoner in a goblin camp was the perfect target for experimentation. Who would ever know? Who would care? Nott felt sick to her stomach, boiling with anger. The goblins were horrible, stupid creatures, but the things they did were out of hunger, or out of revenge. This woman had known exactly what she was doing. Her evil was not animalistic, it was premeditated. It was evil born of understanding.

Through the haze of rage and anxiety that had descended over Nott’s vision, she just barely noticed the Drow stop in front of a door. She pressed a palm it, and runes lit up, tracing a complex pattern, before the door swung inwards, and Nott was left alone, still shaking.

Nott had never been particularly religious, but it seemed to her that the gods, or fate, had brought her and Caleb together for a reason. Both experiments, both victims who’d had everything stolen from them, it was nothing short of a miracle that they’d found each other. Together, perhaps, they could make these people pay for what they’d done to them and take back some semblance of the lives they’d lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll warn you guys now, this fic is going to contain a lot of headcanons that I'll probably stick to, even if Matt reveals them to be incorrect. Though I love the challenge of weaving new lore in. This is a place for me to display all my conspiracy theories and backstory connections lol!
> 
> I added the chapter estimate because I think I have a proper plan down, but I'm not much of an outliner, so who knows.
> 
> As always, I love to know what you guys think!!!


	4. Eternity is a long time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Eternity is a long time, especially towards the end.” ― Stephen Hawking_

Caleb had The Beacon and there was nothing Beau could do about it. He clutched it like an arcane focus, and it seemed to anchor him, or at least that was what he claimed. Power buzzed around him, like a second skin. Beau didn’t like it, the words of Dairon and Ikithon echoing endlessly in her head. Caleb was dangerous, unstable, and they still didn’t even know what The Beacon did. Beau just wished Jester hadn’t given it to him when he’d asked, for separating them now seemed impossible.

Nott’s revelation about Ariadne’s identity had shocked them all. It was her panicked words that had sent Caleb careening into his current state. Instead of another outburst of uncontrolled magic, this state was one of focus and control. The rest of the party seemed to think this preferable, but Beau wasn’t so sure. Caleb was thinking, always thinking, and he never stopped to share the conclusions he drew. Beau cared for him a great deal, wished he wouldn’t shut everything inside.

The moon was nearly full. It peaked intermittently through wispy clouds, shedding altogether too much light on this inner courtyard of the Soltryce Academy. It was very late, but the halls of the academy were not empty. Young wizards hurried from late-night study sessions, or stumbled back to their rooms, attempting to hide the alcohol on their breath. It was better this way. An almost empty place was much easier to move through than an entirely empty one. Doors stayed unlocked and not every footstep drew unwanted eyes. Still, the grassy expanse between this building and their destination felt like miles. Jester drew the shadows up around them, weaving them all a cloak of night, and they crept around the outside, attempting to keep trees and bushes between them and the imposing black tower.

It was impossible to know if they’d been seen, but no one had stopped them by the time they reached the sealed door Nott had witnessed Ariadne enter through the day before. It was smooth stone, without a visible handle or seam.

“You should hide that thing better,” Fjord’s hoarse voice broke the quiet of the hall. It was barely a whisper, yet in this cavernous space, it felt much louder.

His eyes lingered over where Caleb held the dodecahedron, just barely concealed within his jacket.

“It was probably a bad idea bringin’ that thing here in the first place,” he continued.

“No more dangerous than bringing me,” Caleb stated, “yet here we are.”

Slipping The Beacon into an interior pocket, he stepped up to the door. Caleb scanned it quickly, muttering to himself, fingers hovering a centimeter off the stone as he traced some invisible pattern.

“Be ready,” he instructed.

Then, he placed his palm against it. What happened next was nothing like what Nott had witnessed the previous day. No arcane runes were illuminated. Instead, Caleb’s hair floated around him, the air buzzing with power, and where the door had been one moment, the next there was just dust. It made strange, geometric patterns as it floated to the ground, and Caleb shuttered, reaching inside his coat. Clutching the small, black totem, he stabilized himself. Before them, a set of stairs descended, the walls illuminated by the same glowing purple crystals as the tower.

“You alright?” Nott squeezed his hand.

Caleb only nodded, gesturing for them to enter.

Yasha went first, followed closely by Beau, both of their weapons unsheathed and at the ready. The stairs were too thin to walk side-by-side, and they went down a long way, straight and steep without a single curve. The lab was probably as deep underground as the place where Eodwulf was kept, if not even deeper.

Stepping out into the room at the bottom, the party was presented with a large space, illuminated by a few flickering candles along with the dim crystals. There was too much to take in all at once. The lab was divided into sections by empty paths. One corner hosted bubbling alchemical vials and smoking cauldrons. In another, there was strange machinery, reminiscent of The Beacon in its shape, the runes that ran across and around it, pulsing slightly. Directly ahead, a larger version of the dodecahedron hung in the air, surrounded by the same black obelisks that contained Eodwulf. It rotated slowly. Horrifically, the far corner hosted what appeared to be an operating table, complete with dried blood and straps to hold down unwilling victims. Caleb made a point of not looking at it. Then, there was an area composed mostly of shelves and desks. There were scrolls and books, and any component a wizard could imagine. There were lines of crystals, strange things floating in jars, and at one of the desks, the Drow Ariadne sat bent over her work, the candles around her burning slowly away to nothing.

They’d been quiet, but apparently not quiet enough. She got stiffly to her feet, still not turning around to face them. Thankfully, she appeared to be alone. Though, there was a set of doors on the right wall, leading to only gods knew what.

“You… you’re the one who did this to me.” Nott took a few steps forward, voice quivering.

Her voice was quiet in the expansive room, but Ariadne heard it, turning to face them. The Mighty Nein crept towards her, closing the distance, as she took them in. Intelligent grey eyes flickered from face to face, cataloging.

“Did this to…?” She stared at Nott. “Oh!” An exclamation of understanding. Then she moved on, recognizing Beau, Jester, and Fjord from earlier that day. “Oh!” she exclaimed again.

Though she had not yet deduced the true extent of her situation. Caleb moved across the room too quickly to see, coming to a stop in front of Ariadne, a hand raised in warning. The air around him looked like broken glass, and her eyes widened, mouth falling open.

“Oh!” She paused for a moment, processing. “Bren. It’s you.”

“Move and I’ll kill you,” said Caleb. “You must know what I’m capable of, Ikithon would have told you.”

The rest of The Mighty Nein broke into a run, dodging around the rotating dodecahedron and slipping between shelves.

“I don’t,” she said, voice far too excited for someone in such imminent danger, “that’s the thing. I have no idea what you’re capable of, Bren. Not even Master Ikithon does.”

The Mighty Nein surrounded her, all preparing to attack at the first sign of trouble.

“You’ve been busy,” Ariadne said, almost impressed. “You’ve dug up dirt of mine I thought would never be unburied.” She gestured to Nott. “And you’ve somehow infiltrated The Cobalt Soul. We were anticipating you being destructive, but this is something else, this is calculated. No offense meant, but I was under the impression you’d completely lost your mind.”

“What makes you so sure I haven’t?” Caleb asked. It was rare that his specific brand of intimidation reared its head, but when it did it was almost always effective. Ariadne, however, remained unfazed.  He continued. “I want…. I need to understand what is happening to me. I need to know how to control it.”

“Then stay here. I’ll call Master Ikithon. Only with our help can you—”

“Don’t listen to her!” Jester yelled. “We were in the meeting. They’re just going to kill you.”

“Even if that was not the case,” said Caleb, “I would rather die than work with you. Do you understand me? I am done with him. I am done with the empire! So, you are going to give me the information I need, quickly, or you’re going to die.”

“Pity,” Ariadne said, and before any of The Mighty Nein could react she cast a spell.

A wave of repulsion rippled out from around her, knocking everyone backwards. It also toppled rows of shelves, shattering jars and crystals. Magic like this was highly destructive in the confines of the lab. By using it, Ariadne showed she was desperate. They were sent flying to all corners of the space. Beau crashed into the operation table. Caduceus barely avoided landing in a cauldron of bubbling liquid. Only Caleb managed to stop himself, getting pushed only half the distance of the others. He hovered in the air, staring down the Drow. Unnoticed, sweat formed on his brow, as he struggled to keep his tenuous hold on his powers.

Standing on top of her desk, Ariadne outstretched an arm. A beam of energy shot from her palm. But instead of aiming for Caleb, it collided with one of the black obelisks in the centre of the room, turning it to dust. The large dodecahedron began to spin faster and faster, thin silver threads trailing off it like after-images. Caleb clutched his head, still floating in the air. He wasn’t fighting back, instead fighting some internal battle the others couldn’t see. While they struggled to get to their feet, Ariadne knocked out another one of the pillars. Then, she clenched her fist, muttering a spell under her breath. The dodecahedron pulsed once, then Caleb found himself being pulled backwards, towards it.

He wasn’t the only one. Everything from debris to the other members of the party were being pulled inwards towards this gravitational source. Caleb fought it, holding onto one of the black obelisks. The dodecahedron was spinning so fast now the edges weren’t visible. It was a blurry, black sphere, crushing anything that collided with it into nothingness.

“Beau!” Jester screamed.

Jester was wedged in a metal rack near the operating table. Beau lost her grip, plunging towards her, and Jester reached out a hand. They grasped desperately at each other’s arms, and for a moment they held on, but Beau’s momentum was too great, tearing her from Jester’s grip.

It was like time stopped, at least for Caleb. Moving faster than anyone could process, he pulled the small dodecahedron from his jacket, clutching it in front of him with both hands. Letting out a choked scream, he poured everything he had into the seemingly endless pit of The Beacon. If he gave it all the twisting, choking things taking up room inside him, maybe it would turn them into something useful.

Caleb’s eyes were squeezed shut, but everyone else watched as the room became a tangle of white threads. They were only visible for a fraction of a second, but it was as if they were being shown the seams of the universe. The inward pull ceased, and gravity oscillated quickly between several options before finally settling on the correct one. Glowing a blinding white, the large dodecahedron exploded. For a moment, everyone was treated to a vision of thousands of themselves, stretching on to infinity, like they stood between two mirrors. Then, everything settled. Floating back to the ground, Caleb dropped The Beacon as if it had burned him.

Ariadne had collapsed beside the desk, blood dripping from her nose. She was nearly catatonic. Caduceus walked towards her, the end of his flowing sleeve sizzling a little from contact with some chemical. Muttering a prayer to The Wildmother, he cast Hold Person. Ariadne’s muscles locked up, leaving her momentarily paralyzed.

“Quickly, we need to tie her up,” he said, always calm.

The first to respond, Fjord pulled rope from his pack with shaking hands. He wrapped the Drow in it, remembering to gag her, and dragged her towards the operating table. Jester almost protested but did not. What this woman had done to Nott was unforgivable, and she could be their only hope at saving Caleb. The wizard in question was kneeling by the dropped dodecahedron, staring at his hands, while his friends bound Ariadne to the table.

Nott was shaking like a leaf, as paralyzed as Ariadne and Caleb. Finally, she spoke. “You… you made me into this!”

She was seething, both angrier than they’d ever seen her, and almost in tears. Breaking Caduceus’s hold, Ariadne turned her head to survey the goblin.

“You took everything from me!” Nott screamed. “Because of you I wasn’t there to protect my husband and my son for your fucking people. You made me into everything I hate. And for what? I don’t understand!”

Ariadne made a noise. Muffled by the gag, it was unintelligible.

“Shut up!” Nott drew a knife, holding it above the captive’s chest, though her hand was trembling.

“Easy, Nott,” Fjord warned, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Nott shook him off angerly. “I’m going to take this gag off,” he told Ariadne, “but if we even think you’re tryn’a cast spell, you’re dead, understand? And even if you’re quicker on the draw than all six of us, you’re going to have to deal with him again.” Fjord motioned to Caleb. “And I think it’s the wisest thing for all of our survivals that we don’t upset him right now.”

Thankfully, Caleb seemed not to have heard him. He’d moved so he now sat in the centre of the remaining obelisks, clutching the dodecahedron to his chest. None of The Mighty Nein had attempted to approach him yet. They weren’t sure how, and they had other problems at the moment. They probably didn’t have much time down here before someone else showed up.

Ariadne nodded, grunting, and Fjord pulled the gag from her mouth.

“This is a terribly undignified way to have a conversation,” she said, glaring up at Fjord.

“Yeah? Well you’re going to have to deal with it.”

“She’s not going to help us,” Nott said, “we should just kill her.”

Beau leaned casually on the other side of the table, making a big show of examining Ariadne’s wrist restraints. “I understand Nott, I do. But we’ve got to do this for Caleb. This bitch might know how to help him.”

“Who?” Ariadne asked. “Oh, that must be what Bren is going by these days. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but not even I know how to help him. We’re treading in unknown territory. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Watch it,” warned Beau, “that’s our friend you’re talking about. And don’t play dumb. You must know ways of managing his power. You’ve been dealing with Eodwulf and Astrid.” She cracked her knuckles. “I have ways of making you talk.”

“Yes, I am well aware of what The Cobalt Soul is capable of. Though, that won’t be necessary. I’m willing to have a conversation. I misjudged Bren’s control of his power, and I now understand fighting is useless. I don’t wish to die, especially when you all might have interesting things to tell me.”

“Seems like there’s a misunderstanding about who’s going to be asking the questions,” said Fjord.

Fjord, Beau, and Nott conducted the interrogation with concerning ease. Jester hovered beside Beau, nervous, and generally unhappy with what was unfolding before her, though she did nothing to stop it. Now that Ariadne knew she couldn’t fight her way out, she was seemingly happy to talk. Though maybe it was because Nott’s bad-cop routine was clearly not an act. It was only the intervention of the others that kept her from killing the Drow immediately.

Ariadne outlined their methods for keeping Astrid and Eodwulf under control. She and Ikithon had taken many precautions prior to the activation of their powers, though they had apparently only been partially effective. There were the containment glyphs which were far too difficult to construct, and some sort of potion, supplies of which were low after Yeza’s capture. Mention of her missing husband almost sent Nott over the edge, but Jester managed to calm her down while Beau ran across the lab to collect the potions.

While all this had been going on, Caduceus and Yasha had gravitated towards Caleb. Caduceus had taken a silent seat on the floor outside the damaged containment glyph, just watching.

It was Yasha to break the silence. “Uh Caleb… are you alright?” she asked, hesitantly.

Caleb looked up at her, still cradling the dodecahedron, but said nothing.

“They’re uh… they’re asking her questions. They’re about you so I thought…”

“I’m listening,” he whispered.

“Oh. That’s good.”

Caleb was staring. His blue eyes were especially prominent against his dirt-smudged face, or maybe they glowed with something that had not always been there. Yasha was big and intimidating, but those who knew her saw her for the uncertain young women she was, and Caleb’s prolonged eye contact was making her nervous.

“Are you afraid of me, Yasha?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “You can get used to it, though. I know what it is like, for them to look at you like that. It was not a good feeling, at first. My tribe… they were afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” said Caduceus. “Either of you.”

“Is there anything that scares you, Mr. Clay?” Caleb asked.

Caduceus took a few moments to formulate an answer, his mind chugging along slow and steady, as it always did. “Plenty of things. There’s a lot that scares me.” He paused. “Though, not death. And not you.”

Back at the operating table, the interrogation had switched to the topic of Ariadne’s identity, and her relationship with Ikithon.

“I was a crick, once,” said Ariadne, “can you tell?”

Jester flinched a little at her choice of language, but the others were unfazed, waiting for her to continue.

“I found working within the dynasty to be… confining. Their religious approach to dunamancy can get rather tiresome. There are so many secrets that they don’t bother to learn, or which are hidden by the higher-ups. I found The Cerberus Assembly has no such inhibitions, and they were hungry for the knowledge I possessed, so I defected. Though Trent and I still maintain some connections to my more open-minded colleges in Ghor Dranas.”

“So, you’re the one who brought dunamancy to the empire?” Beau asked. “Man, oh man… the Kryn must want you dead.”

Ariadne smiled, a sociopathic glint in her eyes. “It’s never really bothered me much. Trent kept his end of the deal. He gave me the resources I needed to conduct my own experiments while he worked on his.” Her eyes flickered toward Caleb. “I never did meet Bren. He kept that early work hidden, even from me.”

“Why me?” Nott asked, her voice quivering. “Was there even a reason? Or did you just destroy my life for the hell of it?”

“A little more than two years ago,” Ariadne began, “I went on a research mission. I conducted a string of experiments at Trent’s behest. It was nasty work, and he wished to claim deniability. The goal was to develop a specific type of magic that he and the rest of The Cerberus Assembly are incredibly interested in. What was done to you is a method of reincarnation, used by the Kryn. The older method creates a body the same age as your previous one, translated to the age-scale of the new race, which does not facilitate the immortality enjoyed by queen crick and her inner circle. The magic they use requires a sacrifice, a body into which the reincarnating soul can be bound.”

“They’re body snatchers?” gasped Jester.

“Indeed. They do it to newborns most often, claim its reincarnation.”

Nott’s yellow eyes had gone wide. She was a smart woman, but the implication of Ariadne’s words was still processing.

“So, you’re telling us,” said Fjord, “that Ikithon is planning on living forever?”

“Certainly. He doesn’t just wish to make gods. He wishes to become one. Once the process is stable enough, he wishes to become like Bren and the others. Then, through my research, live for eternity with that power.”

Across the room, Caleb stiffened, slowly getting to his feet. But in that same moment, Nott finally realized what this meant.

“So…” she stammered. “This body… it was someone else’s? Before me, this was someone else?”

“Yes,” said Ariadne, “she was a little goblin girl. I forget her name, I’m afraid. You were actually my first successful attempt. From you I moved onto much bigger and greater things. Many spirits can be bound to bodies, not just the recently deceased… not just mortals.” She paused. “If you do intend to poke around the lab further, do be careful. There are many dangerous things here, things even I don’t understand yet.”

Nott slumped to the ground, curling into the shadow of the wreckage. She looked so terribly small.

“I think we should go,” said Jester, pacing nervously.

“I agree,” Fjord nodded at her, “we’ve pushed our luck being here this long.”

“I’ve told you all you want to know,” said Ariadne. “I won’t bother asking you to let me go. Just leave me here, I’m sure someone will find me eventually.”

She got no answer, for her captors’ attention had been drawn to Caleb, who approached the group. He moved stiffly, rubbing his arms insensately. The bandages had deteriorated, and his nails raked across the exposed scars.

“Not yet,” he said, “we don’t understand enough about what I am. I need to collect their notes, take them with us.”

“Whatever you need, Caleb,” said Fjord, “but could you be quick about it?”

Caleb didn’t appear to hear him, instead staring down at Nott where she trembled on the ground. The goblin was crying, fat tears dripping over her cracked, green flesh. Caleb’s fist tightened at his side, and the next second Ariadne was on fire, every inch of her bursting into flame at once. She screamed, agony echoing through the cavernous room, but it did not last long. Silence came quickly, as she was reduced to ash.

“Caleb!” Jester screamed, shaking him.

Even if she had managed to break his singular concentration, it would have been too late. The Drow was nothing but smoldering dust. Caleb just stared at the smoking remains, expressionless. The stink of burning flesh hung heavy in the air and Fjord and Beau, who stood the closest, had to fight back gags.

“We could have let her live,” Beau hissed, too shocked to be angry, “she told us everything.”

“We couldn’t have, not after what she has done.” Caleb sighed. “She was a very evil woman. You must see that, Beauregard. After what she did to Nott, and who knows how many others, she deserved to burn.”

“What the hell is—”

Beau was cut off by Fjord, his fingers digging into her shoulder. He shook his head slowly. He was right, Beau realized, noting the fear in his eyes. Caleb was pulled taut like a strung crossbow. If they pushed him now, there was no way of knowing what would happen.

“Caleb?” Nott asked, her voice quivering.

He crouched beside her, reaching out but stopping himself, afraid to touch her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I think—I think I feel a little better now.”

They embraced, Nott drying her tears in the fringe of Caleb’s coat.

“I made you a promise,” said Caleb. “I’ll help you get your life back, no matter what it takes. I have the power now. I’m powerful enough to do anything. We just need to get your old body back somehow, and I’m sure I can fix you.”

Nott pulled back, straightening up. “Are you serious? Do you really mean that? I mean… I have no idea if Veth’s body is—”

“I’ll figure it out,” Caleb cut her off, getting to his feet. “I need to hang on long enough to do that. I owe you at least that.”

Fjord cleared his throat. “Not to interrupt a heartwarming moment, but you said something about research.”

“Of course.” Caleb shot to his feet, standing like a soldier at attention.

At inhuman speed, he began to rifle through the rubble, stacking papers and torn books into haphazard piles, righting half-shattered shelves. His movements were jerky and manic. From the speed at which his irises darted side-to-side, it was clear his reading speed had only increased further with his new powers. Fjord struggled to keep up with him, holding open the bag of holding. It felt as if he was operating in slow motion when compared to Caleb’s reference frame.

Jester was breathing hard. Leaning on the edge of the table, she stared down into what had once been Ariadne’s body. With one, dry sob she slid to the ground, back against the blood-stained metal. Beau rushed to her side, noting that while she wasn’t crying, her eyes were wide and glassy.

“I don’t know what’s happening, Beau,” she pleaded.

Though she had no answers, Beau crouched beside her, grasping one of Jester’s hands in both of hers. She brought them to her lips, just holding.

“I don’t know how to help him.” Jester looked at her, so defeated it filled Beau with simmering anger.

“You said we have to trust him,” said Beau, “but I’m not sure I can do that. Maybe that’s not what he needs.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do. I’m not a good enough healer… or a good enough friend.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Perhaps Beau was squeezing her hand a bit too hard, but Jester didn’t seem to notice. “I won’t let him go too far. I owe him that.”

Jester just shook her head. “What could we do to stop him?”

Beau didn’t know, but she had realized one thing. She loved Caleb, he was one of her best friends, but if it came down to hurting him or letting him hurt Jester, she knew which she would choose.

“It’s not his fault,” Jester whispered, “they did this to him.”

Beau chewed the inside of her lip, saying nothing more.

As Fjord and Caleb finished up with their research gathering, Caduceus wandered across the lab, drawn to the unopened door. He was lazy in his investigation, tapping his staff against the metal curiously.

“Do you think any of the things you’re looking for will be through here?” he called.

In half a second, Caleb was standing beside him.

“There are things missing,” he told Caduceus. “There are holes in this story. I know Trent must keep them somewhere.”

“Perhaps we should go in together?” said Caduceus, stopping Caleb as he reached to open it, “not everyone is as fast as you are now, you know? And there could be anything past that door.”

Caleb complied, his trembling speed draining away as he waited in Caduceus’s aura. The others hurried to join them, throwing anxious looks towards the lab entrance. Nott had regained her composure and marched to Caleb’s side with a new determination.

The room on the other side of the doors was much smaller. It was dark and quiet with a desk, some bookshelves, and two prison cells. One sat open, empty. The other was closed. While Caleb was drawn immediately to the desk, the rest moved towards it. Beau reached the door first. It was thick metal with a small section of bars. In the darkness, she could just barely make out someone pacing. They froze, and Beau got closer to the bars, struggling to make out who or what it was.

Suddenly, clawed, purple fingers reached out towards her, and Beau stumbled back, colliding with Fjord. Red eyes peered curiously out at them.

“Well, fancy that. Seeing you again, here of all places,” said a familiar voice. “Though I’m not entirely surprised.” He laughed.

Time stopped, and it wasn’t dunamancy this time. After the last few days, Beau thought there was nothing in Exandria left that could shock her, but a living Mollymauk Tealeaf certainly did the trick. Her mouth hung open, too stunned to respond. The others were in a similar boat, barely processing what they saw before them. Beau had watched him die. She’d watched as the light had left his face, open, vacant eyes staring into the heavens. Now, he grinned at them as if nothing had happened, familiar pointed canines and crooked smile. Old grief bubbled up Beau’s throat, mixed with a little anger, though she was unsure who it was directed at.

“Molly?” Yasha asked, voice breaking.

A single, silent tear cut a path down her cheek.

“What are you waiting for?” Molly asked. “Are you going to get me out of here?”

Caleb reacted first, and with a wave of his hand the lock clicked open. Shoving the door outwards, Molly strode out into the open. His hair was longer than the last time they’d seen him, hanging down over his face. He was shirtless, his pants drab prison fatigues. It was so different from the way he usually chose to present himself, yet it was impossible for Molly to exist in a manner that was not colourful. His body was a canvas of scars and curling tattoos. In the low-light of the lab, the red eyes that hid in the artwork were strangely visible. They were more reflective than skin, standing out from the rest of the colours.

In that moment of joy and surprise, everything was forgotten, from Caleb’s powers, to the war, to their previous conversation with Ariadne. Tears welled up in Jester’s eyes to match Yasha’s, but it was the barbarian who was the first to break the silence. She enveloped Molly completely in a hug. He was smaller than she was, disappearing into her.

“I thought…” Yasha sunk to her knees, pressing her forehead into Molly’s stomach. “I thought that I had lost you too. I did not know what to do. I—I almost got lost again.”

Molly carded his claw-like nails through her knotted hair, stroking, soothing. “You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to get rid of me, darling.”

“Why are you down here, Mollymauk?” Caleb asked, distrust in his voice. But his face wore that potent combination of grief and joy that was unique to him. He stared at Molly as if hypnotized.

“And how are you alive?” Jester cut in, clutching at the hand of his not currently threaded through Yasha’s hair. “They told me you died. I saw your grave!”

“I’ve done it before, haven’t I?” Molly asked her. “Though I admit I was as surprised as you. It seems like I’m stuck in this body for the time being. The mage women came to find me. I’m not quite sure how she knew.”

“Oh,” Caduceus exclaimed, as he finally finished putting the pieces together. “You’re Molly. Of course!” He extended a hand. “Caduceus Clay, pleasure to meet you.”

Detaching himself from the women, Molly stepped forward, accepting the gesture with a smirk. He was sizing Caduceus up, taking note of every inch of the gangly giant.

“I grew some mushrooms on your grave,” said Caduceus, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not in the slightest. I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf, fantastic to make your acquaintance.”

The purple crystals that lit the space complimented Molly’s complexion. It almost felt like he was the source of it, like he was seeping out to fill the space with his presence.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?” Nott asked him. “That’s why the Drow brought you back here. It’s why you don’t remember being Lucien! It’s because you never were.”

“That’s not your body?” Molly asked her. He sounded surprised but perhaps not as concerned as he should have been. “What were the chances?” He laughed. “That we’d find each other like we did, two victims of Ms. Ariadne’s scientific crusade. Though I guess it explains a few things about you.”

Fjord was periodically checking the door, and finally he got a moment to speak. “Molly I am so fucking glad to see you alive…” he faltered. “I can’t even express. Fuck. But we need to get the hell out of here so we can have a proper reunion.”

“Let’s go!” Molly let out a whoop. “I’ve seen nothing but these fucking walls for… I don’t know? Weeks?”

“I just need a moment more,” Caleb whispered. “I’m sorry, Molly.” His words were barely audible, and there was a strange edge to them. Molly gave him a puzzled look.

Caleb began to search the desk, looking more normal than he had all day. His movements were accelerated, but no more than they would have been by a haste spell. Muttering under his breath, most of which was a string of Zemnian swears, he flipped through the books, flinching at the familiar handwriting.

Molly was given little time to examine the wizard, for he was accosted on all sides by his friends. They all had something to say, or wanted to hug him, or both. Beau hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to him yet. In fact, she hadn’t said anything at all, still partially in shock. She’d been the closest to him when it had happened. She’d heard the sound of the glaive going through his flesh. There was something that felt wrong about this, but at the same time she was so ascendantly happy it didn’t matter. Yasha refused to leave Molly’s side, clutching at him like she was afraid he might disappear.

Finally, Beau couldn’t take it anymore, and she surged forward, pushing Fjord out of the way so that she was gripping Molly’s shoulder angerly. “What the hell was that shit you pulled, anyways? Rushing in like that? I was fine fighting him myself! Then you knocked yourself unconscious like a fucking moron. Did you know you were going to come back again? Because you should have told us. I cried over you, you asshole!”

“Beau.” Yasha intensified her bodyguard stance, but Molly just laughed.

“I don’t really have the best survival instincts, do I? Weird how I’m still around. I’m as surprised as you are, to be honest.” His grin doubled in size. “Did you really cry over me, Beau? That’s so embarrassing.”

She screamed in frustration, but it was tinged with joy.

“What are you looking for, Caleb?” Molly asked.

He’d never been the type capable of ignoring the elephant in the room. He took a few steps towards the wizard, head cocked to the side. Caleb’s power may have settled slightly, but there must have been enough of the dunamantic shroud remaining around him for Molly’s discerning eye.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked, “one of Ikithon’s kids. I saw the girl a few times. She looked wrong in the same way that you do.” Caleb did not immediately respond, so he continued. “We’re one messed up group; experiments, weapons, outcasts. I love it!”

“Shh Molly,” Fjord warned, “we’ll talk about it later. We all have a lot to talk about.”

“We’re looking for information on what they did to him,” Beau answered his original question. “Maybe we can undo it, or at least help him control it.”

“I don’t think this can be undone,” Caleb spoke at last, “and maybe it shouldn’t be. If I can only learn to control it, it will be the most effective weapon against them.” He closed the book he’d been holding, sliding it into the bag of holding. “I have what I need.”

“That one’s about controlling time,” Molly helpfully pointed out, much to Caleb’s ire. “There wasn’t much to do down here but listen to them talk.”

“Let’s go,” Caleb said, heading for the door.

Molly fell into step beside him, continuing to talk, his voice teasing, prodding. “It’s dangerous stuff, that particular strain of dunamancy. Even these nutcases barely wanted to touch it.”

They were out in the main lab now, Molly picking his way through the wreckage with bare feet, struggling to keep up with Caleb.

“Listen,” Caleb hissed at him, his eyes still far too soft for the anger to land. “I don’t know what you know, and I don’t know what you’re trying to do. But I do know a bit more about you than the rest of them. There was a lot of research on you in there, on what you are. How about you leave my business alone, and I leave yours, ja?”

“What makes you think I care what they know?” Molly asked, waving back at the rest of the party, just to let them know he knew they were listening. “I don’t even know what you know. I don’t care what you’re planning, Caleb. I just know it’ll be good. Since you became what you are, everything’s been coming apart at the seams. It’s hilarious!”

“When we get out of here, we’re going to talk about how you’re acting, Caleb,” Beau said, loathing that it now fell to her to be the responsible one. It was so contrary to everything she’d ever thought she was, but Dairon had been right about Caleb. This time she ignored Fjord’s shushing and grabbed Caleb’s arm, forcing him to look at her.

“I can control it now,” he lied, “mostly, at least.”

“I don’t care,” said Beau, ignoring Molly’s quiet giggling. Whatever was going on with him was another problem entirely. “The Cobalt Soul think it’s too much power for anyone to have… and I agree. What if you snap and decide to become a god too? I want to trust you Caleb, but…”

“You shouldn’t,” said an entirely new voice.

Caleb froze, eyes going wide, his breathing speeding up. While they’d been arguing someone had teleported in silently, just in time to catch the last few words of Beau’s rant.

Trent Ikithon stood less than thirty feet away, between them and the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Should I tag Molly? Or is it worth the plot twist? ;)
> 
> It's been really cool to see all the similarities and differences between this fic and the actual show. Everything is so different, but yet there are some things that are so similar. It's fun.
> 
> As always, I love to hear what you think!


	5. Abhorred in my imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.” – Hamlet (Act 5 scene 1)_

The silence stretched, perhaps for a bit too long. If they’d had presence of mind to act, perhaps something could be done to avert what was coming, but none of them did. They were all frozen in Ikithon’s gaze. Pressure built below the surface like magma under a volcano.

“It’s been a long time, Bren,” Ikithon spoke first, “you look very different. I almost didn’t recognize you. The years have been even less kind to you than they have been to me.”

Master Ikithon struck an imposing figure. The three who had seen him the previous day were not surprised by his jaundice appearance, but the others were faced with how sickening it was to behold. He was tall, dressed in the finest wizard robes, and he held himself with confidence although he was outnumbered. Despite all this, the attention of the party was drawn to Caleb. They waited for an explosion, or an implosion, anything. They got nothing but an impassive, silent mask. Caleb refused to speak. Perhaps he couldn’t. He had drawn so fully inside himself no traces of his dunamancy remained. Seemingly, under Ikithon’s judging gaze, he had achieved a new level of control; unless someone were to pay attention to the nearby equipment.

The fourth of the lab occupied by strange machinery had been heavily damaged during their fight with Ariadne, yet some of it remained intact. It was a jumble of antennas, rotating spider-like contraptions, and runestones, with glyphs connecting it all together. In the last few seconds it had come alive. Moving parts spun faster and faster, and runes pulsed like an anxious heartbeat. The glyphs glowed so brightly they were illegible.

“Sorry about your lab,” Molly goaded, “we’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t we?”

Ikithon stopped examining Caleb so that he could shoot the tiefling a withering look. Other than that, he chose to ignore him, instead focusing his attention on Beau.

“Your group is a collection of every possible problem,” he addressed her, “the coincidence is so absurd I am sure I must have angered at least one god, but I can tell that you—at least—truly are of The Cobalt Soul. I understand our groups are at odds, but I also have immense respect for the order.”

Beau snorted, but Ikithon hurried to continue.

“You, at least, must see how dangerous he is. Bren is my mistake. I take ownership for that.” He addressed them all now, though he spoke of Caleb like he wasn’t there. “The worst-case scenario here is an end to all of us. If he loses control completely there won’t be a fight for us to have, do you understand? Help me atone for my past mistakes and stop him before this gets even further out of hand.”

The archmage of civil influence raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“With all due respect,” said Fjord, stepping in front of Caleb, “we’ll die before we let you touch him.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the group, but Ikithon was only looking at Beau. “He’s dangerous. I sense you already know that. What are you willing to risk?”

It was a good question, yet Beau refused to even think about it, not when it was what he wanted her to do. “You’re disgusting,” she snarled, “you’re an irredeemable piece of garbage, and I would never help you. The only way you’re going to affect what happens to Bren is by telling us how to help him. Now! Speak quickly.”

Ikithon shook his head, sadly. “There is no helping him. He was unfinished, not ready to be the host to such power. There is only one way to end this.” He spoke as if it caused him great pain.

Finally, he turned his attention to Caleb. Though it may have been an act, he stared at him with what looked like genuine regret in his eyes. Caleb refused to meet his gaze.

“I’m not a monster,” Ikithon said. “My country is at war. It is clear the gods have long since abandoned us, so I set out to build my own. For this great purpose, the sacrifice of one life is nothing. I’m sorry, Bren.”

“It was never about the empire, was it?” Caleb asked. His voice quivered, so quiet it was barely audible. “Don’t lie to me, master. After all your talk, after drilling into us over and over that it is the empire above all else, you don’t even believe it, do you? You don’t even care?”

“That’s nonsense. Whatever led you to that asinine conclusion? Everything I’ve ever done—”

“den Mund halten!”

Caleb was shaking, his hair and clothes beginning to float as his power emerged. The others dared not interfere. Even Molly was silent. This moment had been an inevitability ever since Caleb had come back to himself on the floor of the asylum. A nexus of fate, it was unavoidable destruction.

“It was always just a tool to you,” Caleb continued, “these ideas of loyalty and treason. My parents were far more loyal than you, and you made me believe…” he choked. “You would tear the empire down yourself if it meant you could use the ruins as your throne. The Drow told us, you aim for godhood. You wish to live forever.”

It was becoming more and more difficult to make out Caleb’s form as space around him distorted. It was a little like hot air, or maybe thick glass, but at the same time not like either of those things.

“Believe me or don’t,” said Ikithon, “the fact remains that you are out of control. Look at yourself, Bren.” He took a step backwards as the dunamantic distortions seeped towards him. “You proved yourself unworthy that night. To control power like this requires immense mental strength, logic over emotion. You were never capable of that. Will you hurt these friends of yours in your arrogance?”

It was as if Caleb hadn’t heard him. “It’s karma, Trent. You have made me into what I am, so you have dug your own grave. What goes around comes around, as it were.”

They moved at the same time. Ikithon conjured a shield at the same moment Caleb relinquished his last shred of restraint. The party struggled to get out of the way as reality twisted and bent, being ripped asunder the same way it had been on the warfront. Just like it had there, this magic would leave a scar. Ikithon conjured a sphere of shimmering, multi-coloured light which did not immediately fail as Caleb’s expanding aura collided with it. Still, it warped, melting away slowly. First the red dissolved to reveal orange, then the orange to reveal yellow. By the time Caleb had made it through the final, violet layer, Ikithon was ready for him. A massive beam of energy shot straight for him.

“Caleb!” Nott screamed.

She dared not get closer for the last time she’d tried her balance had been upset so violently by the distortion she’d almost vomited.

The spell did not hit Caleb straight on, bending slightly in the prism surrounding him. Still, he was shoved backwards, giving Ikithon a moment to take in his situation. He made his decision, casting a spell and stepping through a shimmering, purple door.

“No!” Caleb flew to the space he’d occupied, releasing a torrent of Zemnian swears.

As he landed on the ground once more, the magic surrounding him began to dissipate slightly, wreaking further havoc on the lab as it did so.

Beau crouched behind a still-hovering chunk of ceiling, peering out as the space around Caleb became habitable again. Her first instinct, as it always was, was to look for Jester.

The blue tiefling ran towards Caleb, shouting excitedly. “It was only a Dimension Door! I recognized it! Even I can cast that. He can’t have gone far. We’ll find him, don’t worry.”

Caleb looked up as she approached, the fog of anger clearing a little from his eyes to reveal the old intelligence. “Ja! You’re right. Why wouldn’t he…?”

“Gone to visit a neighbour maybe?” asked Molly, peeking out from a pile of destroyed alchemy equipment, like he knew exactly what was going on and was just waiting for the rest of them to catch up.

 “The tower!” Jester stammered. “It’s right across the quad. The basement of the tower where—”

“Eodwulf!” Caleb gasped.

The air was filled with shouts. Everyone had a different opinion on what to do next. They blended together into an incomprehensible soup. Still, they all ran for the stairs together, as there was nowhere else to go. They ran through the empty hall, and out into the courtyard. It was very late at night, much darker than when they’d gone down as clouds had moved in to cover the moon.

“I think we should go!” Beau yelled, but it was half-hearted.

Caleb was stopped in the middle of the space, not making any moves to approach the black tower, just waiting.

“I feel something,” said Caduceus, placing a hand against the grass, “a rumbling.” It was a slight vibration, coming from below, imperceptible to the others.

“I’d take cover,” Molly warned him. “This is going to be one hell of a fight, like nothing this world has ever seen… or at least not for a long time.”

Caduceus studied him, head cocked slightly to the side. No fear was visible on the tiefling’s face. Instead, he radiated excitement. Though he was quite adept at reading people, Caduceus was having an exceptionally difficult time with Molly.

Jester moved up beside Beau, who had positioned herself not far from Caleb. “Should I try to convince him to leave, do you think? Will we be able to get away?”

Beau shook her head. “I change my mind. There’s no chance we’ll make it. And this Eodwulf… he’s the one who destroyed the archive. Maybe… maybe I’m okay if he and Caleb having a conversation.”

“I’m a little afraid, Beau,” Jester whispered.

They grasped hands, fingers intertwining. “Me too Jess, me too.”

Around the quad, things that were not tied down began to hover: pieces of dirt and rock, vegetation, several benches. This time, it was unclear if Caleb was the source, for someone had just walked through the tower door.

“Wulf?” Caleb called. “Is it really you?”

Eodwulf responded, not in words, but by closing the gap between them at astounding speed. Caleb stepped out of the way just in time, avoiding what would have been a blow, or maybe something else. They were face to face now, Eodwulf a head taller than Caleb, his expression blank but concealing a simmering anger. Caleb, in contrast, was much easier to read. Uncertainty and grief mixed in equal measure.

“I don’t wish to fight you, old friend,” Caleb pleaded.

“Neither do I,” said Eodwulf, “but I am afraid there is no other way. You must be disposed of before you can cause damage. You are a broken weapon beyond repair.”

“Is that how you see us? As weapons?”

Debris orbited the pair in a slow ring. They seemed not to notice, so engrossed in one another. As the tension grew thicker, more and more earth was pulled up. Patches of grass and dirt floated to join the rest.

“Of course,” Eodwulf said. “We are weapons for the empire. Has it been so long that you have forgotten?”

“Not for the empire,” Caleb hissed, “for him! He’s a monster for what he did to us. Can’t you see that?”

“Don’t speak of him like that. Without Master Ikithon the empire would fall to the cricks! And you’re a traitor, a coward! What can you say of him, when you abandoned us?”

The angrier the men got the more the world around them warped. In the space between them, where their magic met, it was like the colliding pressure fronts that birthed storms. The buildings of the Soltryce Academy around them seemed to bow inwards, blocking out the sky. Some of the party retreated to the fringes of the courtyard, while others drew closer, wishing to interfere in the coming fight.

“Abandoned? I…”

“Couldn’t cut it,” Eodwulf finished his sentence for him, “abandoned Astrid and I on this path you lead us down. It took some time to realize we didn’t need you, that we never did.”

“I… I broke. It was too much. I wish more than anything I could have saved you both from this, but I couldn’t even save myself. You are right about me. I’m weak. I’m a coward. But—”

“Enough!” Eodwulf reached out, squeezing his fists shut in a gesture that should have turned his opponent to dust. On Caleb, it had no such effect.

Eodwulf lunged for him with a yell. Though they did not collide directly, both covered in a protective layer of magic, they went flying across the quad. In appearance, it was more similar to a physical brawl than a mages’ duel, though every movement caused ripples. For example, as Eodwulf’s tackle threw Caleb into one of the buildings, these ripples spread through the stone and metal, even though Caleb himself had not contacted it. Caleb was pinned, the shattered glass effect around him getting thicker and thicker as Eodwulf pushed against it.

“You know nothing of dunamancy,” Eodwulf said, matter-of-fact, his emotions hidden once more. “You haven’t progressed since we were children. You always thought you were better than us. You were the protegee and we were just tag-alongs.”

“I never—”

“Not anymore.”

Beau, Yasha, and Molly drew closer, but any delusion of involving themselves in the fight was quickly squashed. It was clear neither Caleb nor Eodwulf was holding back, showing no regard for the collateral damage they caused. It was the same awing destruction from when Astrid had appeared on the battlefield but magnified by two. The Soltryce Academy, this place that had set the trio on their path, was torn to shreds around them.

“Come on! Yasha!” Beau grabbed the bigger woman’s arm, attempting to drag her out of the danger zone.

A falling chunk of roof missed them by inches, but before it could hit the ground it was pulled back upwards by the shifting gravity.

“I’ve got to get Molly.” Yasha pulled away, searching desperately through the chaos.

Where he had been moments before was hidden from view by a massive, dunamantic distortion that bisected the field. Beau remembered the last one of this scale they’d seen, creeping across the wasteland. Where that one had inverted reality, this one set it alight. Standing near it, the night was as bright as day. The interior was a crystalline structure of glowing white threads, reflecting the world around it. Beau saw countless warped versions of her face staring back at her.

Above it all, Caleb and Eodwulf hung over the city. If there had been any secrecy remaining around what Ikithon had created, it was gone now. Rexxentrum was awakened by ripples of magic and patterns in the sky. The denizens of the Soltryce Academy tried to flee, with varying levels of success. Though, The Mighty Nein was far too close to the epicentre to stand a chance. They were swallowed by the distortions. Beau grabbed Yasha as they lost sight of the rest of their friends.

They lost all sense of direction, floating through debris with no idea what was up and what was down. Out of body, they saw themselves kicking helplessly at the air, looking down on themselves with no control.

“Caleb?” Beau screamed.

With a grunt of exertion, Yasha grabbed hold of a piece of floating stone. Beau was starting to get her bearings, or perhaps they were just floating to a weaker area of magic.

“Jester!” Beau screamed again, more desperate this time. “Jester!”

Yasha moved Beau’s hand to a divot in the stone, telling her, without words, to hold tight. This chunk of wall rolled on, taking them with it, and as hard as she tried, Beau could see no one else through the dust and prismatic shapes.

Even outside the heart of the distortion, the unpredictable gravity had The Mighty Nein scattered and nearly useless. There were too many areas with their own idea of down. Some pulled inwards to a central point, someone pointed to the sky, or a downward diagonal that wasn’t quite right. Some just couldn’t make up their mind. The largest fear, for the people being tossed around like ragdolls, was getting caught right on a border to be torn apart. These contradicting gravitational fields battled for dominance like they were extensions of Caleb and Eodwulf’s wills. Currently, the pair hurled chunks of academy at one another, standing upside-down on disks of dust, though from the natural way their clothes sat, they could have appeared to be on the ground.

Spinning himself upright so he was looking down on Eodwulf, Caleb sent a column of energy towards the ground. Everything in its path was turned to dust, and it was pure luck that none of the party was caught in it. The air around Eodwulf thickened, protecting him from this fate, but he was slammed down with tremendous force, opening a fissure across the quad.

Where she still clung to the floating rock, Beau noticed something strange. The air felt thicker. It was like they were moving through water, all the chaos around them slowing down. Eodwulf’s protective shield was spreading, creeping out from the crack. Eventually, Beau and Yasha stopped moving altogether. The air felt strangely sharp, and it had a reflective sheen to it.

“It looks solid,” Yasha commented. “Like crystal.”

“You may be onto something,” said Beau.

She stretched a foot out towards a particularly reflective area and found that—for the first moment of contact—it was indeed solid. Now that the dust wasn’t swirling, their visibility was much better. Less than sixty feet away was the largest piece of rubble in the area. It was one of the academy’s curling spires. The glass had long shattered, leaving an elegant metal skeleton. Near the top, nestled in what had once been a clocktower, Beau thought she saw something move.

“Shit.” She looked at Yasha. “I think I’m going to do something stupid.”

“Right behind you.”

Muttering a few swear words under her breath, Beau let go. The magical formations were semi-solid, but they dissipated from too much contact. Beau kept moving, jumping from one crystalline area to another, fighting against the thickness of the air. Near the base of the spire they formed an especially thick layer, and Beau was able to jog up like they were a ramp.

She and Yasha found themselves inside a stairwell that was still mostly intact. They climbed to the top, despite some concerning creaking noises.

“Hey,” a familiar voice came from above, “look who it is.”

Caduceus peered down from the clock room, offering his staff to help pull them over a gap of missing stairs. Crouched among the broken gears were Jester and Molly. Beau went to Jester immediately, pulling her into a hug and burying her face in her neck. Yasha had a similar reaction to seeing Molly, though she simply squeezed his hand, radiating silent relief. Outside, the battle continued, growing somehow more chaotic by the second, and from the top of the hovering clocktower, they had the best seats in the house

 “Where are the others?” Beau finally asked, as the world outside their window warped and spun, an all-consuming firework show.

“Somewhere out there, I’m afraid,” said Caduceus.

“I tried to grab them, but they got pulled away.” Jester was a little tearful.

“If he hurts Nott or Fjord, I swear…” Beau trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

It was hard to tell if Caleb was winning. He and Eodwulf had shrunk their battlefield to the centre of a cyclone of power and debris, in which the clocktower was caught.

“They’re holding back,” said Caduceus, “or at the very least Caleb is.”

“Why the hell do you think that?” Beau asked.

Charged ions in the cyclone sparked, and Caleb drew the static towards himself before blasting it in Eodwulf’s direction like a lightning bolt.

“Everything here is so ordered. He still moves like he’s casting spells. This power is chaos. I’m not sure what would happen if he let go, but I don’t think we’ve seen it yet.”

Molly laughed then, gleeful and excited. It was unclear if he’d even been listening, for he hung out of the tower into the whipping wind. He held the minute hand of the broken clock, his other arm spread loosely.

“Be careful, Molly,” Yasha warned, moving closer, prepared to catch him.

As the wizards fought, the excess magic which had built up in the storm began to leak. It coalesced below, forming a pulsing knot of light and dark. Quickly, it took shape into something geometric. As they climbed higher, Caleb and Eodwulf seemed not to notice it.

It grew to look like a spectral version of The Beacon, and it was singing. A strange melodic hum filled the air.

“What is that?” Jester whispered, creeping towards the edge, “it’s beautiful.”

“Well,” Molly winked at her, “there’s only one way to find out.”

 “No!” Yasha screamed, but her reaction came a moment too late.

Molly jumped, angling his body like a diver. He aimed straight for it, and was swallowed by it, disappearing in the light. Yasha and Jester were both screaming, Beau reeling with silent anger.

“Is he fucking suicidal?” she demanded, “or is he just that sure he’ll come back?”

The spectral Beacon grew brighter and brighter. High above, even Caleb and Eodwulf noticed.

“Oh no,” Caduceus said.

Then, everything dropped. The crystalline formations were no more. The cyclone unspooled like yarn. The tower, the dust, even the fighting wizards fell. In contrast with the previous chaos, everything was still, peaceful even, except for the small detail that they were falling to their deaths. For a moment, they all thought it was over. Then, the dunamancy snapped back into place like a returning boomerang and everything was chaos once more.

Caleb grabbed the front of Eodwulf’s shirt, pulling them both out of the freefall. They hung there for a moment, as they both processed the return of their powers.

“Enough,” said Caleb, “I don’t want to fight you anymore. I cared for you a great deal, once. I still do, despite myself.”

Eodwulf spoke through gritted teeth. “Then stay still and let me end this.”

“I wish I could do that,” Caleb admitted, voice quivering, “but I don’t deserve that. I must undo what I’ve done. For my parents, for you and Astrid, I will remake reality. Being what I am now, I have sway over time, I can feel it! Join me, Wulf. We can make a better universe, together. I don’t want to hurt you, but if I must I’ll just go back and make it so this was never necessary.”

“Master Ikithon was right,” Eodwulf said, with dawning horror, “about how dangerous you are. Your emotions, your attachments, they have turned you into a monster. Bren, would you really kill everyone in Exandria just to turn it into your dollhouse?”

“That’s not—”

“What kind of terrible god snuffs out the universe each time it diverges from his personal satisfaction? If you do this it won’t just be once, admit it. What would your parents think if they could see you now? A traitor to the empire, out only for yourself.”

“It’s for them,” Caleb protested, “it’s to save them… and you.” There were tears in his eyes, unshed, the sadness undercut by desperation, by denial and anger.

“We don’t need you to save us, Bren. Astrid doesn’t need you. She doesn’t ever want to see you again. She dreads it. Do you remember the things you said, before Master sent you away? I am guessing not.”

“I... uh…” Caleb clawed at his own face, clutching his head as the dunamancy around them became more erratic.

“You’d really erase Astrid and all of these friends of yours, for what? To hide from your madness? To become the lonely god of some hollow echo? Face it Bren, you made your choice that night, just like we did. We learned the pain of a choice like that, but for you the lesson did not sink in. You wish to do it again? To burn this universe to nothing? The Bren you were, the Bren I knew, would ask me to kill you.”

Caleb made a strangled sound, like the whine of an injured animal. He curled in on himself, and a massive wave of energy shot outwards. It sent the clocktower flying, and it collided with the ground, splintering. Its occupants were sent flying into the walls.

In his mind, Caleb was lost. Everything was fire and screaming. Despite the truth that rang in Eodwulf’s words—his best friend’s words—he couldn’t let go. He could not look at a universe in which his goals were abandoned. The pain of it was too much for him. Caleb was spiralling, bad, and he retreated into his subconscious. Cloaked in dunamancy, magic couldn’t touch him, but powerful as he was, Eodwulf could.

Spells wouldn’t work so his attacks had to be physical. Eodwulf grabbed him by the throat, flinging him into what remained of the black tower. The stone cracked around him, loosing new chunks to join the maelstrom above. In less than a second, Eodwulf was upon him, throwing punch after punch. His fists seemed to warp reality around them, but still they barely reached Caleb. Instead of breaking his skin, the force of them hammered him further back into the stone.

Ignoring the bleeding gash on her leg, Beau clambered from the wreckage. She stumbled, almost falling, but suddenly Jester was there to catch her. Warm magic flowed from Jester’s palm, as she pressed it to her thigh.

“He’s not fighting back,” said Caduceus, unusual worry creeping in past his calm facade.

Above them, Eodwulf moved back from the Caleb-shaped hole he’d made, releasing a massive surge of magic. It blasted Caleb the rest of the way through the wall and into the stairwell, taking what remained of the tower with it. It was little more than a foundation now, Caleb’s body crumpled on the steps. The group rushed towards it, dodging the occasional piece of floating debris.

Further from the heart of the storm, Molly lay on his back in a small crater, staring up at the magic-warped sky. His field of vision was invaded by Fjord, who stared down at him with concern.

“You alright there, Molly?”

He offered a hand, which Molly took, getting to his feet.

“Still very much intact, I’m afraid.” He winked. “I… after Ariadne found me, I had a lot of time to think. I always used to try and avoid that. I ended up sorting a few things out, despite myself. Seeing you all again reminded me why I liked being Mollymauk. It’s a bit of a shame.”

“What is?” Fjord asked.

“That all this is coming to an end, one way or another.”

Fjord made a face, not quite able to formulate a response.

“So, you remember, then?” Nott asked, scampering up on Molly’s other side. “Who you were before? Not Lucien…?”

“A little bit… just enough. And no, definitely not Lucien. Though I appear to be stuck bound to his body, whether I like it or not. Decorating it only helps so much, knowing what I know now.”

“I know the feeling,” Nott sighed wistfully.

Below ground, Caleb and Eodwulf fought in the confines of the stairwell. Well, Eodwulf fought. What little reaction Caleb gave may just have been a response inherent to his dunamancy. Crashing through another layer of steps, Caleb glanced past Eodwulf to see his friends, climbing down the precarious and mostly destroyed stairs. This snapped him into focus just long enough for him to bring a chunk of wall down on top of Eodwulf. The other man hadn’t been expecting it. The majority turned to dust in the aura that surrounded him, but some made it through, piercing his shoulder and down into his chest. Letting out a yell of pain, Eodwulf landed on the nearest ledge, clutching at where the stone protruded from his skin.

Jester, Beau, Yasha, and Caduceus reached Eodwulf first. Ignoring Caduceus’s quiet protests, the girls approached him, weapons raised. He was too preoccupied gently disintegrating the shrapnel to acknowledge their presence. While Beau felt a little silly pointing her quarterstaff at him, Yasha’s Magician’s Judge was surprisingly effective at piercing his aura. The mirage-like quality of the air ceased around the blade, and Yasha pointed it at his neck.

Looking off the broken ledge, Jester spotted Caleb a floor below. He sat shaking against the wall, clutching his head.

“Jester, don’t!” Beau’s warning went ignored.

The athletic tiefling launched herself across the gap in the stairs, sailing almost half a floor and sticking the landing. A few pebbles crumbled away as her heel hung off the edge. Carefully, Jester crept closer. Caleb was a wreck. He was bloody, shaking, and distorted by the magic radiating off him.

“Caleb?” Jester whispered. “I’m going to come heal you, okay? Don’t be scared.”

He looked up at her, one hand still clutching his face. The other raised, like a warning, begging her to stay away.

Above, Eodwulf finally noticed he had a sword pointed at him. He spun towards them, so surprised that the blade didn’t immediately disintegrate, that his hand collided with it. Metal cut into flesh, and a little blood pooled in his palm. This resulted in the immediate and violent reaction of a wall of repulsion, blasting outwards.

Two things happened at once. Firstly, Beau, Yasha, and Caduceus were hurled against the walls. Secondly, on seeing this, Caleb reacted. He warped space around himself to the point where Jester didn’t know where she was. He pulled Eodwulf down towards himself, and she was lost. All she could see was Caleb, at the end of a long tunnel. Her body fought against the rearrangement of distance, and she clung to the stairs beneath her. Eodwulf and Caleb collided, bringing them both to the ground, and reality returned to normal. Yet Jester knew something was wrong. She tasted blood in her mouth. She couldn’t feel her stomach and half of her chest.

Jester collapsed on the stairs. She clutched at her stomach and was met with the disconcerting feeling of her hands being warped around a space they could not enter. A dunamantic glitch in reality made her midsection look like a reflection. She knew that it had rearranged things, could feel how wrong it was, but she feared if it were to fade everything would just fall out.

Beau was beside her suddenly, holding her. Jester looked up and saw she was crying. They were angry tears, shed with gritted teeth, and Jester wanted to apologize, but the words didn’t surface. Beau cradled her in her arms, and Jester could have sworn she could hear the singing of the magic, like they had before Molly had thrown himself from the clocktower.

“Just hang on, Jess, please.” Beau kept repeating it. “Just hang on. I can’t lose you.”

Only a dozen feet away, Caleb and Eodwulf wrestled like children, like they weren’t the kind of beings that had warped reality itself just moments before. Eodwulf flipped Caleb onto his back, pinning him so his head hung off the edge of the stairs.

“You son of a bitch!” Beau screamed. “Caleb, if she dies, I’ll kill you. I don’t care if you’re a god.”

Caleb looked at her, upside down, his eyes landing on Jester.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Beau demanded. “You want this power now, right? You keep saying you can control it. But now you can’t use it because you’re too hung up over your history? You’ve done less damage to him than you have to Jester. Do we really mean so little to you?”

Trent Ikithon had been right about one thing. The mixture of dunamantic magic and emotion was a potent and dangerous one. Grief, anger, and uncertainty welled up in Caleb. Above him loomed Eodwulf, a cold mirror of the boy he’d grown up with. He was emotionless, determined to kill him, so little of what he’d once been remained. And across from him were Jester and Beau, Beau clutching at Jester desperately like she could somehow undo what he had done. He let it out, all those emotions he usually fought to supress. They overtook him, and he sunk into them, sunk into the magic and drew it around himself like a blanket. All that was left on the surface was an angry, vengeful being, no longer a man. It was like Caleb was gone, and the dunamancy itself moved his limbs.

Moving too fast for any of the spectators to track, Caleb threw Eodwulf off, slamming him downwards, through two more levels of steps. The air filled with dust and distortions. What remained of the tower was like a chimney.

Jester focused on her breathing. The web of distortion on her stomach was shrinking a little, and she could see blood soaking through her dress. The dunamancy itself, once a twisted reflection of the world around it, was now undercut with a ruby tint. So, muttering a prayer to The Traveler, she began to heal. It was a strange feeling, her familiar magic interacting with the foreign body, but it seemed to be working, to an extent. As healing magic knit her tissue, Jester could feel The Traveler, his worried presence hovering just out of sight. But more than that, she could feel Beau. The other woman stroked her hair, muttering words of encouragement.

When she had exhausted her reserves, Jester still didn’t feel completely whole. Some of the foreign magic remained, making breathing difficult, but at least the world was no longer spinning.

“It was probably stupid to come in here,” Jester muttered, burying her face in Beau’s neck.

“Maybe.” Beau paused. “Definitely.”

There was nowhere to run, for climbing back up now would be too difficult. Below, the sound of combat slowly faded.

“Are you alright?” It was Yasha’s voice that finally forced Jester to uncurl from her place against Beau’s chest.

She held a rope which had been secured on the floor above. Yasha had carried Caduceus with her when she’d swung down, and the other cleric crouched beside them, examining Jester with concern.

“I’m fine,” Jester got to her feet, leaning heavily on Beau, “…mostly. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, Deucey. I think I’m as healed as I’m going to get.”

Together, they climbed the rest of the way down, and in the tunnel below they found stillness. Dunamancy had left its mark here, this time in the form of spirals cut into the stone. It had widened the corridor quite significantly, giving the impression they stood inside a nautilus shell. In the centre of it, knelt Caleb. And while it was still down here, it was not silent. Caleb sobbed. His shoulders shook, tears a continuous torrent. Eodwulf’s lifeless body lay beside him, half merged into the floor, which had been partially turned to black glass.

They let him cry. What else could they have done? Jester’s piece of magic shrapnel served to show what happened when one got too close. Eventually, the rest of the party climbed down to join them, and with Nott’s help they managed to coax Caleb down to the end of the hall and into Eodwulf’s former cell. Mercifully, the containment glyph appeared to be intact. Caleb hadn’t said a word, frozen but malleable as Nott guided him up onto the platform. Though everything around him left a shimmering trail, an echo of itself, smudged like firelight through a rain covered window.

“You’ll be okay, Caleb,” she promised, squeezing his hand once before stepping back outside of the nonagon of glowing runes. “It’s just probably best you don’t have to worry about controlling your powers too, on top of…” she trailed off.

Though he wasn’t crying anymore, Caleb had made no move to wipe the tears from his face. He sat on the ground with his back against Eodwulf’s bed, staring at them glassy-eyed. In the silence of the room, when Jester let out a whimper, it was deafening.

“Sorry,” she apologized, as they all turned to look at her, though it was unclear to whom it was directed, “sorry, I’m fine. Really.”

It was clear, just from looking, that she was lying. She looked pale, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. And the spot on her stomach, while it was not a wound, was obvious in its wrongness. Light didn’t move through it properly, making it difficult to perceive or understand, but the way Jester’s hands hovered over it constantly showed it caused her pain. She leaned against the wall, barely on her feet.

“Can you do something?” Fjord asked Caduceus, panic edging in, “can you help her?”

“I’m a bit low on magic, and even if I wasn’t, I’m not sure it would make much difference.”

Even as Caleb refused to look up from his hands, he could feel Beau’s eyes on him.

“I think that a bit of her is time-locked,” he explained, getting to his feet, “I could try…” He made it only one step forward before reconsidering. “Or perhaps that is not the best idea.”

“Why not give it a go?” Molly asked, leaning on one of the obelisks, “you never know.”

Caught up in Caleb, no one had gotten the chance to ask him why he’d jumped, or how he was still intact.

“I…” Caleb stammered, “I do not want to make things worse.”

“Good,” said Beau, “then don’t. Stay in there and get yourself together. Jester and I will go back to the archive. Maybe they’ll know a stronger cleric, or—or they’ve dealt with this before, since Eodwulf attacked them. I don’t know, but I have to do something.” She brushed a damp piece of hair off Jester’s face, tucking it behind her ear.

“It’s probably best to check in with them, regardless,” said Caduceus, “all that magic stuff seeped out into the city.”

“Okay.” Jester nodded. “If that’s what you think is best, I’ll come with you.”

“Just hang on a bit longer, okay?” Beau said. “We’ll figure something out. We have to.”

So, with Jester leaning heavily on Beau, the two women departed, leaving the rest to watch Caleb. This was a task that was made significantly more difficult by Molly. Despite many protests, the tiefling jumped up onto the platform, talking to Caleb while in the range of his magic. The colours in his tattoos bled out into the air a little, but he seemed entirely unconcerned. For those outside the glyph, he looked like a watercolor painting.

Caleb had given up the beacon to Nott in exchange for the research notes he’d stolen from the lab, which he spread out on the bed. He watched Molly from the corner of his eye, but did not speak, waiting.

“How did it feel?” Molly asked.

“Molly, please,” Fjord begged. He hovered by the edge of the platform but was too afraid to physically reach in and remove him.

“How did what feel?” Caleb retorted. “Killing my childhood friends? Or do you mean hurting Jester, who is so dear to me now?”

“Letting go,” Molly breathed, taking a few more steps towards Caleb. “For a moment there, you stopped trying to impose your wizardly will upon a force of the universe not meant for it, didn’t you?”

Caleb didn’t respond, focusing on controlling his breathing. The trails running off the object in the cell increased, blending together, though they stopped abruptly at the invisible line formed by the obelisks. Nothing was anywhere, and everything was everywhere, and Molly just stood there grinning down at Caleb.

“How did it feel?” he asked again. “I really do want to know, I’m curious. If I ever knew, I’ve forgotten.”

“It felt like giving up,” Caleb whispered. “What I need to do—what I’m going to do, it will require the utmost control. I do not want this power, but I cannot give it up.”

“If you keep being an instigator, I’ll drag you out of here by force!” Nott squeaked. “Caleb doesn’t need you riling him up right now.”

“There’s so much we all need to talk about,” said Fjord, “and things are just happenin’ so fast. Please, Molly, come down from there.”

Purposely ignoring them, Molly asked. “Is that what you need, Caleb? I wouldn’t want them to speak for you.”

“That’s it.” Supressing his fear, Fjord jumped up into the cell, grabbing Molly by his wrist and dragging him out. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? What are you trying to do?”

Molly did not resist, though he laughed like Fjord had just told a joke, winking at Caleb where he still sat on Eodwulf’s bed.

“You can’t be in here,” said Nott. “There’s something wrong with you, that’s obvious, but we don’t have time to deal with it right now. Go wait in the hallway.”

“Not so happy to see me after all, are we?” Molly asked, teasingly.

Nervously, Yasha placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will go with him. I uh… I would not want him to wait all alone.” She guided him towards the door, both gentle and firm. “Come on, Molly.”

Much to everyone’s relief, Molly did not protest further, and the pair disappeared into the shadows of the ruined hallway.

The smudging of reality inside the glyph seemed to abate slightly, and Caleb began to shuffle absently through the papers. He hated being on display like this, all of them watching him like he was a specimen. How had Eodwulf done it for so long? Perhaps he hadn’t felt anything about it one way or the other. He hadn’t seemed the feeling type anymore.

Only Caduceus, Fjord, and Nott remained in the room, which was a little better than when it had been all of them.

“All this trouble with you and we have to add Molly in on top of it,” said Fjord, sighing deeply. “Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be happier he’s alive, but something’s different about him. We all see it, right?”

“Are you absolutely sure he’s the same?” Caduceus asked, “as he was before he died? Coming back from the dead is a tricky business. There are right ways and wrong ways.”

“It’s him,” said Caleb, “he has been this all along. He has just begun to remember things, I believe. I have read some notes. Apparently, it can take some time for souls to regain their memories, especially if the host is young. Though not always, isn’t that right Nott?”

Nott nodded. “I knew who I was.”

“The tricky thing with Mollymauk,” Caleb continued, “is that Ariadne was not entirely sure what he was. She bound something to Lucien’s body, something old. Whatever it was, it is dunamantic in nature, though she knew no more than that. His soul or… whatever it is, it resonated the same way as the beacons.”

“Well that’s just great,” said Nott. “I need you to know Caleb, that no matter what, you’re still the priority. I can’t deal with two super-powered mystery men. One is my limit. If he’s going to get in the way of helping you, he’ll have to leave.”

“I… appreciate it. Though it’s not necessary. As far as I have read, which is not far, there is no evidence Mollymauk has any powers past those of his blood hunter host. Then again, I do not believe he yet fully understands what he is. Maybe in time…”

All this thinking and analyzing, the spotlight being on someone who wasn’t him, it had calmed Caleb down significantly. The air inside the glyph had almost returned to normal.

“Nott?” he asked, voice quivering a little, “what about your husband? What about Yeza? Isn’t he the priority?”

Nott swallowed, evaluating the dangers of honesty. “I think about him constantly, both him and Luke, but he’s all the way in Ghor Dranas, and I figure if you’re this powerful now, it won’t be too hard for you to help me get him back.”

“I can promise you I’ll try,” said Caleb, “but I can’t promise that’s what you want. I think Beauregard is right not to trust me.”

In the city above, Beau and Jester made their way towards the archive, and as if Caleb had sensed it, Beau was currently talking about her misgivings regarding the wizard. She and Jester picked their way through the destruction Caleb and Eodwulf’s battle had done to the surrounding blocks. The first few rays of morning sun were beginning to peak out over the horizon, making the lasting dunamantic effects even more prominent. There were scars in the sky, permanent wounds like what they’d seen in the eastern wastelands. Except, instead of an army of Kryn war mages, this had been caused by two school-friends having a tussle.

“It’s too much power,” said Beau, “no one person should have that much fucking power.”

“I don’t think he meant to hurt me,” said Jester.

“Of course he didn’t. He hurt you, though, and I know he puts as much weight on that as I do. The thing about Caleb believing he’s a monster for as long as he has, is that you can reach a certain point where you buy into it entirely. If he’s already accepted that he’s irredeemable garbage and sees only one way out… I’m worried how far he’d go to reach that out.”

Jester didn’t say anything, though the weight on Beau’s shoulders increased. She was biting her lip, holding back some expression of pain.

“Will something like this ever really be over?” she asked. “Caleb’s not ever going to stop being like this, right?”

“It could end,” said Beau, not really believing it herself. “What about when the war’s over?”

“It’s nice to think that way, at least,” said Jester, “that one day it won’t feel like everything’s ending.” She paused. “What would you do, if you decided to stop adventuring?”

“I don’t really know. To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it. It feels like just last week we all met up, but at the same time it feels like it’s always been like this, just the group of us, watching out for each other.” For a moment Beau almost stopped herself, but it was like the words had a mind of their own. “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be good. I know there are some parts of this that can’t last forever. Nott will go home to her family, Caleb might burn himself out, but I don’t want to imagine us parting ways. Whatever I do… I want you to be with me.”

“That means a lot to me,” said Jester, with none of the normal flirtatious teasing, “it makes the future less terrifying. I hate the idea that we won’t all be together forever. It’s exciting to never know what’s coming next, but also so scary. What I’m saying is… it’s just—it’s just really nice to have a constant. Do you want to promise? That we’ll stick together no matter what?”

Beau stopped in her tracks, turning to face Jester. She still helped support her, so they were nearly chest to chest. They were standing in the middle of a Rexxentrum street at dawn, surrounded by buildings that had been warped to look like a curling abstract painting, but Beau didn’t see any of it.

“I promise you Jester, that I will stay by your side as long as you’ll have me… until you get sick of me. There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

Jester squealed. “Oh, Beau! That’s so romantic, like something out of a book.” Then, she kissed her. Both arms flung around Beau’s neck, up on her toes, for a moment Jester’s injury was forgotten.

When they finally pulled apart for air, Jester winced a little, leaning even further into Beau for support.

“When this is over…” Beau began, “whether we have to end a war, or run away, or fight two armies at once, I don’t care… we should go back to the menagerie coast. I don’t care who comes with us. We should find a place to hang out, at least for a little while, until we get bored. I can work on meditating or something, and you can visit your mom. We’ll swim in the ocean. Maybe we can visit Orly and the crew…” She trailed off, realizing how absurd this sounded, given their current situation.

“That sounds lovely.” Jester grinned, kissing her again; just a peck this time. “Come on! There’s only one way to get our vacation, and that’s one step at a time.”

Beau bit back an _“I love you,”_ telling herself that it would be okay to say after a few more days, after a few more kisses. But with death a looming possibility, it seemed just as foolish to wait. Still, the moment had passed, and Beau found herself unable to say it. Just a few minutes later they were in front of the archive of The Cobalt Soul and it was time for more serious things.

They went directly to the high sage’s office, not bothering to engage with the many curious eyes. As Jester struggled up the stairs, a monk swept in to help, but he stayed respectfully silent. Beau had been running over her opening line over and over, debating how much about Caleb they should reveal. It turned out not to be a problem, for they didn’t even make it to the door. A hooded figure entered the library at exceptional speed, and suddenly eyes weren’t on them anymore. The figure moved with a fluidity greater than even Beau’s, and they climbed the stairs by leaping on the banister and swinging themselves from level to level. In seconds, they were beside Beau and Jester, breathing hard. They dove past them into the office, Beau catching the door before it could close.

Beau wasn’t sure if she’d seen this monk before. There was something about them that looked familiar, but at the end of the day, a lot of them were just humans with buzzcuts. The monk bowed to the concerned looking sage, but before they could speak, Beau cut in.

“Jester and I just came from the centre of the distortions. I need to tell you what happened. And Jester—”

She was cut off. “And I must report what will happen. No, what is happening as we speak.” There was such urgency in their voice Beau stayed silent. “I was stationed within the quarters of the emperor, to watch, to listen.”

“So, you’re a spy?” Beau asked.

“Nothing of the sort. I’m an Expositor, and I serve this empire. I would have laid down my life for the emperor.” They turned away from Jester and Beau, slamming their hands down on the desk. “None of this is important! What I am here to report is that Ikithon got permission to send the girl to Ghor Dranas. They will end the war one way or another, without thought of consequence.”

“And you are sure?” the sage asked. “Bertrand Dwendal is not easily provoked to rash action. Your last report said he feared to lose her, feared retaliation… feared Ikithon’s agenda.”

“That was before dunamancy tore a hole in the centre of his city. He believes the war is here.”

“But it’s not!” Jester protested. “It was Eodwulf and… it was his students!”

“The truth is irrelevant now,” said the Expositor. “Master Ikithon appeared in the palace chambers, fresh from conflict, and told him the Kryn were to blame. The emperor made the call, and I fear he cannot retract it. I fear Ikithon would have acted either way. We all know he’s been looking for an excuse to display his power.”

“What do we do?” Beau asked. “We can prove it wasn’t the Kryn. Could we get the emperor, have him do something?”

“We can try,” said the sage, calmly, but his words dripped with pessimism. “But we must begin to brace for the fallout. Whichever side comes out victorious, things will change.”

Beau and Jester didn’t even have to speak. They could read each other perfectly. Jester’s condition was stable enough, and their report could wait, if they acted now perhaps they could stop Astrid before she directed the same chaos that had rained down over Rexxentrum towards Ghor Dranas with malicious intent. As Jester mumbled the incantation for Sending, Beau whispered a prayer to Ioun that Caleb could get them there in time, and that getting him involved wouldn’t ignite the situation further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This now beats out chapter 2 as the longest chapter thus far! Whoooot!
> 
>  _**takes a shot of 5-hour energy**_ pacing? never heard of her. The only pace I know is LIGHT SPEED _baaaby_. If you're not juggling at least 4 plots simultaneously what's even the point?
> 
> What did you guys think of this chapter? What do you think is going to happen in the end? I just like hearing from you tbh... say whatever


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